


neither lost nor found

by athena3062



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-07 21:22:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 25,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4278384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athena3062/pseuds/athena3062
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain Swan AU. After losing their best friend, Emma and Killian’s relationship falls apart. Unaware that Emma and Killian are separated, Ruby asks Emma to be a bridesmaid in her upcoming wedding. When Emma says yes, she and Killian find themselves in Storybrooke, navigating past and present (and the roads that brought them together in the first place).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Emma hadn’t slept properly in weeks. She was overtired, existing on too much caffeine and not enough food, and wasn’t looking at the floor when her toe slammed against something solid. Stumbling forward, she caught herself against the wall before she fell. Pain shot through her foot.

“Dammit!” Her voice rang out through the apartment. She looked down, searching for the source of her pain. Graham’s left boot was lying on its side, the sole covered in dried mud. The right boot was undisturbed, sitting in the hall outside his bedroom.

Emma stared into his room, breath catching in her throat. The door had been closed when she went to bed. His floor was covered with open boxes, a roll of packing tape sitting in the center. 

“What happened?” Killian’s voice came from the kitchen.

“What the hell are you doing?” Her voice rose sharply; she’d forgotten how speak properly, alternating between shrieking and mumbling.

Killian came down the hallway, a coffee mug in his left hand, his dark hair standing up at different angles. He was wearing a faded gray t-shirt, one Emma didn’t remember seeing before, even though it must have been in her dresser.

She gestured at the overturned boot, clenching her hand into a fist so he wouldn’t notice how much she was shaking. Normal words felt sharp and jagged on her tongue. “Why are these here?”

Killian stepped closer and Emma noticed that he was barefoot. "I was going to start on his room.”

The hallway felt too narrow for both of them, air too thin for her to breathe properly. Emma resisted the urge to back up as he moved forward.

“Now?” Emma felt like she was underwater, unable to hold onto a thought.

“I have work tomorrow,” Killian retorted. “So yeah, now. Unless you’re going to do it.”

It wasn’t fair. They shouldn’t have to box up Graham’s belongings and ship the boxes to his sister. Even though she lived in Sweden, Emma thought Meg should be the one to wrap up Graham’s life. It was too much.

“I can’t,” she replied dully, arms wrapped around her ribs.

Killian swore quietly, turning away from Emma and retreating into the living room.

Emma felt raw. She’d been on edge for too long, too many hours of swallowing bitter words and resisting the urge to scream at everyone in sight. She followed Kilian into the living room, her toes sinking into the orange carpet.

“You don’t have to be here,” Killian said, setting his coffee mug on the window ledge. “I’ll get Will to help.”

“It’s fine,” she snapped, even though the idea of walking into Graham’s room made her nauseous. Emma wouldn’t be managed, not by anyone, but especially not by him. She couldn’t stand his tone, calm and level, like she was going to fall to pieces at any moment.

“Alright. Then can I get back to it?” Frustration crept into Killian’s voice.

Emma crossed her arms defiantly. “Whatever.”

Rationally Emma knew she wasn’t being fair. Graham had been Killian’s friend for nearly a decade. But she couldn’t control her anger. Emma was furious with Meg for asking them to do something so unthinkable. Killian was moving too quickly, opening Graham’s door when it hadn’t even been a week. Graham should have been more careful; he shouldn’t have been riding his bicycle in the middle of rush hour traffic. He should have avoided the car door that opened instead of letting it clip his front wheel.

Killian stared across the living room. He could read her better than anyone but Emma didn’t want to talk. She didn’t want to dismantle her friend’s life into anonymous cardboard boxes. She wanted to break everything in sight, throw away his movie collection, burn all his clothes, abandon the apartment and let someone else deal with the mess. Emma was desperate to ease the crushing ache in her chest.

Her eyes burned, tears building despite her anger. Emma bit down on her lower lip. Killian’s shoulders dropped and he reached for her hand but Emma ignored it. She didn’t want comfort.

Emma hated the continuous loop in her mind: the image of Graham flying over his handlebars and landing wrong in the middle of the street. She couldn’t think straight anymore. Her friend was dead and everyone kept going about their lives as though nothing had changed.

Killian raked his hands through his hair. “Dammit Emma, I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Her lip curled. “I don’t know either! You’re acting like…“

"Like what?” He watched her through narrow eyes. The tension between them was palpable.

“Like everything is fine!” The word normal burned on Emma’s tongue. She felt her anger begin to deflate. It was a ridiculous thing to say: she was delirious, trapped too deep under water where everything was distorted and upside down.

Killian’s body tensed, his right hand braced against the back of the couch. “I can’t believe you.”

Emma stared at him, disbelief tinged with fury, waiting for him to push back. She was tired of feeling out of sorts and out of place, tired of the tears that built behind her eyes for no reason. Emma couldn’t stand being in the apartment; without his bicycle the kitchen was empty. She hated walking past his desk at work.

She thought Killian would understand, that he knew after two years of friendship (and eight months as a couple) how deep her scars went. The silence swelled and Emma’s anger returned.

Killian crossed his arms over his chest. “I need some air.”

Emma stiffened; he didn’t understand. “I think you should go.”

“What?” His face twisted. “You’re not serious.”

“Yes I am,” she exploded, standing up quickly and nearly cracking her knee against the coffee table. “I’m so tired of you being here!”

“Just get out Killian. Get out and leave me alone!” She felt the jagged pieces of her past poking through, tripping her movements and weighing her down.

“Swan!” Dimly she registered how tired and defeated he sounded. He scratched the back of his neck with one hand.

“No!” She held up her right hand before he could move closer. It was easier to push him away before things fell apart. “I don’t want you here. ”

His shoulders slumped. “Emma-”

Emma shook her head, “I can’t do this. Why won’t you listen to me?”

She flung herself onto the sofa, aware that she was behaving like a child in the throes of a tantrum. But Emma didn’t need him to hold her hand, didn’t need anyone to save her; she was capable of rescuing herself.

Killian sighed heavily. "Alright.” She caught a glimpse of his back as he went down the hallway. His shoes must still be in her room.

Emma folded herself into the sofa, hands wrapped around her shins. She stared at the blank television screen, wishing he would say something to break this horrible spell.

“Emma.” Killian stood between the living room and hallway, wearing his sweater and shoes. His forehead wrinkled. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Don’t you get it?” Her voice was sharp. “I can’t do this anymore. It’s too much Killian.”

He didn’t move. “Graham-“

“Is dead,” she replied hoarsely. Emma stood up slowly, suddenly exhausted. She didn’t want to dig in and make things work; she wanted to leave this hell and find a world where things made sense (one where her friend wasn’t gone and her boyfriend wasn’t behaving like a stranger). “I don’t need you to remind me! Why won’t you just leave?”

The words hung in the air between them. Killian shook his head but didn’t argue, walking silently across the laminate floor.

Emma bit the tip of her tongue. If he didn’t open the door, they might have a chance. If he turned around and went back to Graham’s room and ignored her for the rest of the morning, they might have a chance. If she took back the hateful things she didn’t want to say, they might have a chance.

But his hand closed around the doorknob and he didn’t look back. Emma stared at the door; he didn’t even slam it shut. She stared at the closed door until her eyes began to burn.

Once again, she was alone.


	2. Chapter 2

Killian’s phone began to vibrate, making its way across his desk. He’d been ducking messages from Will and Cyrus, sending vague replies to the group texts about getting together. He was tired of forcing himself to leave the apartment, tired of filling the weekend hours with beer and bourbon.

It would be easy to blame Will: he’d showed up at Killian’s building and pressed every call button until someone buzzed him into the building, and proceeded to bang on Killian’s door until it opened, just to confirm that Killian was in fact alive (and punched Killian in the shoulder for good measure). But it wasn’t Will’s fault. During the week, Killian pushed himself through the routines of his workday, but like clockwork on Friday afternoon, the loneliness returned with a vengeance. 

Killian missed his friend. He’d met Graham in graduate school. Killian was trying (unsuccessfully) to balance a new job and master’s degree coursework. Graham was taking one class as part of a continuing education requirement from his employer. They’d become friends nearly straight-away.

He reached for the phone, intending to ignore the call, but it was Granny. “Hello?” 

Granny usually didn’t call; she preferred to text, sending one long message without greetings or endings. The ipad Ruby gave her for Christmas was perfect because Granny could see the letters clearly and didn’t waste time striking the wrong keys.

“Killian? It’s me.” Granny had an unfortunate tendency to yell into the phone. It reminded Killian of a general from one of the old war movies Granny liked to watch on Sunday afternoons (the only time she ever left her staff in charge). 

“Is everything alright?” Killian gripped the phone tightly in his left hand. 

Two years ago, when Granny had a heart attack in the middle of the Wednesday lunch crowd, she’d waited almost a week to call Killian. She said she didn’t like to bother him at work, and was still angry at Doctor Whale for making her take three weeks off to recover. Whale still couldn’t get a decent sandwich if Granny was behind the counter, settling for burnt toast or cold soup. 

“Of course. Are you busy?” 

“No, not at all.” It was nearly five and most of his colleagues had ducked out at 4:30 (to beat the Friday train traffic, they claimed). He’d been staring at an open email for longer than he wanted to admit, dithering back and forth over a seemingly simple request. Talking to Granny would be a good distraction. 

“Good.” Her voice sounded muffled. If Killian had to guess, he would imagine Granny was in the attic. It was her favorite place to hide from the staff – she claimed she was doing inventory but as far as he could tell, the stack of boxes upstairs seemed to increase year after year. “Did Ruby call you?”

Killian frowned. “No. Why?” 

Ruby, six years younger than Killian, was Granny’s only grandchild. They kept in touch mostly through social media; Ruby posted daily updates from her life in Storybrooke (complete with photos) and Killian scrolling through the feed quickly every few days.

“Damn girl,” Granny grumbled affectionately. “Well you’ll have to act surprised when she does, all right?”

“Sure.” Killian was more confused than ever. “What’s going on?”

“Peter’s deployment got moved up.”

“Damn.” He stared at his computer screen until the words went out of focus. Granny had given Peter hell the first time he asked Ruby out on a date. Killian didn’t remember the particulars but a crossbow was involved somehow. Peter had joined the Marines after graduating high school, leaving his brothers to run the family’s auto body shop.

“That’s not the half of it. Ruby’s moving up the wedding too.”

“And you said okay?” It had taken Peter nearly two months to get Granny’s permission to date Ruby, and almost two years to get permission to propose. 

“I couldn’t say no. It’s his second tour Killian. Who the hell knows what might happen?”

Killian nodded, forgetting that Granny couldn’t see him. “Right,” he said when the silence stretched too long. “When is it?”

“Next weekend.”

“Granny!” He swallowed a curse (not that Granny would mind).

“Hold your horses lad, I’m not done.”

Of course there was more. He could feel a headache beginning to build. 

“It’s Emma. I need you to ask her a favor.” 

He tried to interrupt but Granny wouldn’t let him get a word into the conversation. Killian felt like he was sixteen again.

“Now hold on and let me finish,” Granny snapped. “Ruby’s a good girl and she deserves to have a proper wedding. It’s not her fault her two bridesmaids might not make the ceremony.”

“Wait, back up.” Killian had lost the thread of the conversation.

“You remember Ashley right? Sweet girl, waits morning tables? Well she’s about as pregnant as can be. I think she’s liable to go into labor any day.”

“Okay. What about Mary Margaret?” Fortunately he’d been paying attention during his last phone call with Ruby, at least enough to remember which one of her friends she was putting in the wedding party.

“She’s got another three months to go but that idiot Whale keeps talking about bed rest.”

Killian couldn’t take much more information without a drink in his hand. “Granny I don’t see what this has to do with Emma.”

“Ruby’s pouring her heart into this wedding. Peter’s two brothers will be there and she wants two bridesmaids. Now if both girls can’t do it, I thought your Emma could take their place.”

He should tell Granny that Emma wasn’t even speaking to him. Will Scarlet had been the go-between to pack up Graham’s things from the apartment (Emma had given Will the key and instructions to text her when they were done). 

But Killian didn’t want to sit through one of Granny’s lectures. She might be the most no-nonsense woman in Maine, but if Ruby wanted pomp and fluff, that’s what her granddaughter was going to get. 

“She might not be able to make it,” he protested weakly. 

“She’ll be there, same as you. Now, I’ll get on Ruby to call you, but remember to act surprised, alright?“ Granny clicked her tongue impatiently. "I need to run. If I leave Astrid down there too long, she’s liable to burn the whole place down. Take care of yourself and give my love to Emma.”

“Alright but Granny…” 

Before Killian could protest further, the call disconnected. Killian stared at the blank screen. He should call Granny back, tell her Emma couldn’t make it and move on with his night, or better yet call Ruby and tell her that Emma was going to be out of town.

But he couldn’t let Granny down. She’d never complained about taking him into her home, even though he was fifteen and pissed off at the world. Killian knew he owed it to Granny to at least ask Emma. Let her make an excuse. He could deal with the rest later.

Killian shoved his phone into his pocket. He was done; he closed the laptop screen and slid it into his bag. Work could keep until Monday. 

—–

His phone began to vibrate as Killian climbed the steps leading away from the train platform. He waited until he was in the station before pulling it out. A missed call from Ruby. Granny wasn’t wasting any time.

He stepped out of the flow of commuters and weekend travelers, leaning against a pillar. Killian unwound the cables for his earbuds. It was a short walk home but he hated balancing the phone in one hand. He had a heavy-duty case but had seen too many shattered screens.

He tapped the screen, tucking the cable over his shoulder. The call connected as he pushed the station door open. 

"Hey.” Ruby’s voice sounded tinny and Killian pushed on his left earbud.

“Hey yourself.” He sidestepped a woman with two large dogs before he was trapped by the leashes. 

She sighed heavily, the sound coming clearly through the small speakers. 

"What’s wrong?” Usually Ruby talked at a rapid pace, jumping from one topic to another, pausing only to breath or snag a sip of coffee. It wasn’t like her to be so quiet.

“Granny told you about what’s going on, right?”

“Yeah" he replied, thumbing up the call volume. There was no point in pretending otherwise. “Congratulations by the way.”

Ruby didn’t answer. Killian crossed the street, waiting for Ruby to tell him why she’d called.

“Can I ask you something?” 

He resisted the urge to throw his phone across the sidewalk. Yes, he wanted to yell, ask me whatever bloody question you want, just get to the point. 

“Sure,” he replied.

“Do you think I’m making a mistake?”

He swore silently. Relationships weren’t his area of expertise. If they were, he would have known what to say to Emma instead of letting her push him away. But Ruby wouldn’t ask if she didn’t want an answer. “If you want out, say the word Red.”

“No.” Ruby’s voice hitched and Killian wondered where she was hiding (she preferred the quiet of her car to the attic). “I love him, you know?”

“So what’s the problem?”

“What if he doesn’t come back?”

The question made Killian’s throat tighten. He didn’t know what to tell Ruby, no more than he’d known how to tell Emma that Graham was dead. 

“Then you figure it out.” He turned left, looping back around the block. This wasn’t a conversation he could have in his too-quiet apartment. “You can’t stop living because you’re scared.” He wished he had said the same words to Emma, but she didn’t give him the chance, never asking how they were meant to recover. 

Ruby sighed heavily. “Everyone has all these ideas about the wedding.”

“Course they do,” Killian interrupted. It was par for the course, living in such a small town. 

Ruby’s voice crackled through his earbuds. “Did Granny tell you she’s on Pinterest?”

“No.” Killian chuckled, scanning the familiar signs along his block, trying to settle on a place for dinner. “How’d you find out?”

“After I told her about the wedding, she showed me all these pictures. It was like a freaking fairytale or something!” 

He hovered outside the small Mediterranean restaurant. It wasn’t crowded yet. “What’d you tell her?” 

"I told her it was perfect.” Ruby sounded defeated.

He wasn’t surprised. Ruby and Granny could have knock-out screaming matches better than anyone, but the two were close. Ruby had stayed in Storybrooke after she finished high school, even before Granny’s heart attack. Killian had offered his couch but Ruby had deferred, saying she could always go to Boston.

“Sounds like you’re on the hook then.” He began to walk again, too tired to stay in one spot for longer than a minute. 

“Wait until you see Emma’s dress.”

Killian nearly stumbled over his feet. It was a perfect moment to tell Ruby the truth: he couldn’t even get Emma to talk to him. She was avoiding his calls and he knew better than to send flowers. He’d tried after their first fight and she’d told him afterwards that she’d nearly broken the trash slamming the lid over the bouquet. 

It was their worst fight and it was about nothing - he’d been tired and furious. Graham knew better than to ride without a helmet. And Killian hadn’t asked to be swept into the middle of coordinating funeral arrangements, fielding calls from Graham’s sister at odd hours. It wasn’t Meg’s fault; she was an ocean away with a husband and three kids. There was no one else and not being able to shake Graham for being so careless made Killian even angrier. It was like losing his brother all over again.

“Red I don’t know…”

“Oh shut up. Tell her I promise not to make her do anything embarrassing.” Ruby sounded more like herself, confident and flippant. 

“Why don’t you ask her yourself?” Killian turned left, making another loop. His stomach was growling. If Ruby didn’t stop talking, he was going to have to join a line and mute his side of the call.   
  
“Because she’d feel bad saying no. Once I start saying things like deployment and wedding, people make this face and it’s over. I don’t want to guilt-trip Emma into it.”

He bit back a laugh. Same old Ruby. Despite the age difference, they’d always been close. Ruby had latched onto Killian from his first night in town. They’d exchanged postcards during his first year of college, Ruby sending three for each one Killian mailed. 

He should tell Ruby the truth; she’d understand. She was the only one who knew the truth about Milah. He had told everyone else (his friends, Granny) that they’d ended things because she was graduating. But he’d told Ruby the entire story, half-drunk on spiced rum. 

Instead he heard himself agree to Ruby’s ridiculous request. “Alright, I’ll talk to her.”

Ruby’s squeal nearly punctured Killian’s eardrum. He grimaced, sidestepping a couple walking hand-in-hand. “Yes, you’re welcome,” he replied, desperate to cut her off before she asked him for another favor. 

He barely paid attention to the rest of the conversation, answering Ruby’s questions in as few words as possible. Yes, he would text her Emma’s answer. No, it wouldn’t be today. 

After he hung up the call, Killian made his way back to the Mediterranean restaurant. In five minutes the line had swelled to nearly ten people. He stood at the end, staring blankly ahead (there was no need to look at the menu, he always got the same thing). 

Maybe she would say no. It would be easier. He could tell Ruby and Granny the truth and close the door on Emma Swan for good.

On the other hand, Killian reasoned as he shuffled forward, maybe she’d say yes. It was only a weekend. Two days and they could go their separate ways.  They’d been friends before and they’d fought before. It was a spectacularly bad idea but he had to try. 

The rest would be up to Emma.


	3. Chapter 3

Emma rolled onto her back, blankets tangling around her legs, staring blankly at the ceiling. The entire weekend stretched out in front of her: no plans, no obligations, no reason to fling back the covers and face the day.

The apartment was too quiet. She’d never lived alone, always surrounded by roommates or other kids. It was Graham’s fault. She’d grown accustomed to hearing the pipes bang in the morning or the low hum of music coming from the kitchen.

She’d met Graham on her first day of a job she’d changed cities to accept. Initially Boston was no different than New York; she was sharing a too-small apartment with too many people and navigating a public transit system that defied common sense. Graham’s cubicle was directly across the narrow pass-through from Emma’s desk; he walked past her cubicle dozens of times a day. But they had been just coworkers, ordering the occasional lunch together and bickering over music until the bottom fell out of her relationship with Neal and she’d found herself moving into his spare room.

* * *

 

_She’d been in the apartment for almost a month when he began to badger her about getting out and making friends. So far she’d been mostly successful at avoiding the invitations, but Emma knew it couldn’t continue. She’d put off signing her name to the lease but was starting to feel silly._

_The apartment was in a nicer neighborhood than she would have picked (or could afford) on her own. It was a narrow two-bedroom (really a one bedroom with a temporary wall) but there was enough room for a massive tv, couch with enough space for at least five people and coffee table that doubled as their kitchen table._

_Secretly Emma wondered if Graham had first moved in with a woman – it felt like a perfect starter apartment for a couple – but she never asked. His previous roommate had left almost all his furniture and Emma’s clothes barely took up any space in the closet. She’d made three trips to the store in as many days, buying new sheets and towels and bedding. It was easier to start new without reminders of Neal._

_Graham, she’d quickly learned, was one of those people who put everything away before going to bed. His shoes were always lined up in his room, never abandoned by the front door or under the coffee table. He also seemed incapable of staying home for more than three nights in a row. Emma was starting to feel like a slovenly hermit compared to Graham._

_If they were just roommates, she might have said yes to going out, but they also worked together. Emma didn’t want to meet his friends. She wanted to keep her work life far away from her personal life. There were already too many entanglements._

_Emma did better on her own and told Graham as much. “Besides I’m not really a drink beer and watch cricket kind of person.“_

_Graham chuckled. "It’s rugby. And who cares? It’s one drink.”_

_She meant what she said: sitting in a bar with a bunch of drunk guys wasn’t her idea of fun. But it was a Friday night and she didn’t have plans. She wasn’t looking forward to spending hours alone in the apartment, flipping through episodes of crime scene dramas to fill the silence. “Fine, I’ll go. Only for one drink,” she warned._

_The bar looked terribly ordinary from the outside but inside it was cozier than Emma imagined (she’d been picturing an over-packed sports bar with too-many television screens). This was the kind of place you could have a conversation without shouting. Graham steered Emma towards the back of the narrow bar. They stopped in front of a back booth, already filled with people. Coats were draped over the chairs facing the wall. “Humbert,” one of the men said, raising his beer._

_“Lads, meet my new roommate.” Graham turned to Emma. “Emma meet everyone.” She stared at the four people (three men and a woman with sideswept bangs)._

_He pointed quickly, lobbing names at her quickly. “There’s Cyrus, Will, Killian, Anna.”_

_Emma tried to focus. She’d heard Killian’s name mentioned every few days but she couldn’t pin down whether he had the longer hair or the blue eyes. Anna, who hadn’t objected to being called a lad, was easy to separate. She gestured at the space to her left. “Sit,” she urged Emma._

_Emma slid onto the wooden seat, glad she’d left her purse behind. She needed a drink, if only to occupy her hands._

_“Beer?” Graham looked around at the glasses. No one said yes except Emma._

_A woman made her way from the bar, carrying full glasses in both hands. She bumped her shoulder against Graham’s arm with a smile. “Shove over, will you?” He stepped aside and she slid the two beers onto the table, passing one to Anna._

_“Hello,” she said to Emma, dropping onto the chair directly across the table and holding out her right hand. “I’m Alice.”_

_Emma shook the proffered hand. It was cold from the beer. “Emma,” she replied._

_“The new Robin,” one of the men added._

_Emma swiveled her head. It was the one with the piercing blue eyes._

_“Killian,” he mouthed over the noise._

_She smiled in response. So that was Graham’s mysterious best friend._

_“Wait,” the man to Killian’s left interrupted, “I thought you were…” He raised his eyebrows twice._

_Emma choked back a laugh, catching his meaning clear enough._

_An instant later, he let out a loud yelp and glared at Alice. “Bloody hell what was that for?”_

_“Because you’re not twelve,” Alice replied with a sweet smile. “Now be nice or next time I might miss your leg.” She reached for her beer and winked at Emma. “You’ll get used to Will.”_

_Later, after the first round of beers had turned into a second, Emma found herself sitting next to Will, watching Graham and Killian shoot darts. Alice and Cyrus (Emma had resorted to process of elimination to keep the names straight) were sitting at the bar._

_Will’s glass was nearly empty. He gestured at Emma with his right hand. “Sorry about before.”_

_She shrugged. “It takes more than that to embarrass me. Besides, I’m sure it’s happened a lot.” Will’s forehead puckered and Emma hurried to clarify. “With the other girls.”_

_Will laughed loudly. “Not in the slightest. Alice is my sister.”_

_“Oh,” Emma replied with an embarrassed shake of her head. “What about Anna?”_

_“Kristoff would take my head right off my neck. He’s ‘bout the size of a refrigerator,” Will replied. “Got hands like oven mitts.”_

_“Oh.” Emma turned her attention to her beer. “So what do you do?” she asked Will. She was terrible with small talk but it was better than sitting side-by-side in total silence._

_“Bicycle messenger,” he replied, “occasional waiter. But I’m really a photographer.”_

_“So it’s whatever pays the bills?” She was surprised to discover she was having fun._

_He raised his beer in a mock salute. “Exactly.”_

_Anna returned to the table. “I’m heading out,” she announced, “I have to be at work early tomorrow.”_

_Emma nodded even though she didn’t remember if Anna worked in a school or a clothing store. The evening had passed in a pleasant blur. She’d missed laughing and even though she didn’t want to admit it, Graham had been right._

* * *

 

She had managed to separate herself from everyone in less than a month, retreating further and further back until she didn’t know how to move forward.

It would be three weeks on Wednesday. Twenty-one days without Graham’s bicycle in the foyer, helmet on the counter, muddy towels beneath the bathroom sink. She’d stopped answering her calls, screening everyone. It was scary how easily she’d slipped out of the habit of being social and how quickly the offers vanished.

Her phone was dark on her bedside table. Emma stared at the blank screen, smudged with fingerprints and pressed the power button. The familiar logo appeared. It was easier to turn off her phone rather than face unwanted calls. Not that anyone was calling with any real frequency.

Some days she turned it off as soon as she crossed the apartment’s threshold. She pushed through the motions of everyday life: narrowing her grocery list to the smallest selection of items, running on the ancient treadmill in the building’s makeshift gym and getting to work on time. Everything else fell away.

The screen changed and Emma’s fingers moved automatically, tapping in her passcode. Notifications made the phone vibrate: three voicemails, six text messages and two emails. All the messages, save the emails, were from Killian.

Emma’s stomach dropped; he wasn’t the kind of person to leave a string of messages. Maybe one or two, but never this many. She pressed his name automatically, not caring if she woke him up.

Every awful thing she could imagine flashed through Emma’s head. Since Graham had died, she’d re-evaluated what the worst case scenario could be, so when Killian picked up on the second ring, Emma nearly fell off the bed.

“Swan. You got my messages.” He sounded stilted. Emma wondered if she’d woken him up, but it wasn’t her place to ask. Not anymore.

“No. I mean yes,” Emma replied quickly. She suddenly felt foolish. “My battery died,” she added lamely.

“Ah. My apologies then if I worried you.”

She drew her knees to her chest, phone balanced between her cheek and shoulder, pressing against the arm of her glasses. “It’s fine.”

“How are you?”

Emma pushed herself against the pillows until she was leaning against the headboard. “Fine,” she lied automatically. Everything grated on her nerves: slow tourists and traffic jams, too-hot coffee, a toaster that refused to properly warm bread. She wanted to get away from the city.

“Ruby called me last night.”

Emma tried to relax. “How is she?“

"Busy. She set a wedding date,” Kilian answered.

Emma bumbled her way through congratulations. She’d only met Ruby’s boyfriend when they’d visited Storybrooke in June; she didn’t remember his name, but he’d seemed nice enough.

“It’s next weekend,“ Killian interrupted.

She sat straighter, heels digging into the mattress. "What? Why?”

"His deployment got moved up.”

Emma swore quietly. Poor Ruby. Killian was silent on the other end of the phone.

She swallowed hard, unease making her shiver. “So why’d you call me?”

“Ruby’s running short on bridesmaids.”

“You’re not serious.”

“Would I be calling if I wasn’t?” His voice was sharp. He inhaled quickly, voice lower when he continued: “she’s got two but they’re both pregnant.”

“So she called you to ask if I can be a fill-in bridesmaid?” Emma’s voice rose shrilly. “Forget it.”

She disconnected the call, her hand shaking. It was too early for his bullshit. He must have gotten drunk last night and thought this would make a decent excuse.

Emma dropped the phone onto her unmade bed. She yanked her bedroom door open, heading straight for the bathroom. Inside, separated from her phone by another closed door, she tried to relax.

Her hands were shaking as she tried to insert her contacts. Emma took a deep breath, trying to steady herself but she couldn’t focus. Once both lenses were in place, she slammed the medicine cabinet shut, blinking rapidly.

The shower was almost too hot but Emma lingered beneath its punishing spray. She was exhausted, barely managing four consecutive hours of sleep.

Soon she would have to find another roommate or a new apartment. The lease wouldn’t expire until June but it was too big for her to stay here alone.

If she had stayed in New York, none of this would have happened. Boston wasn’t the mistake. Neal was. If she’d never met Neal, she never would have found herself without a place to live and would never have been more than Graham’s coworker. She wouldn’t have ever met Graham’s friends and never have gotten close enough to mistake them for her own.

She turned off the water, reaching for her thin bathrobe. It was time to go. There was nothing in Boston.

Even as she tightened her robe, Emma knew she was lying to herself. It was easy to dismiss Killian’s apologies and avoid his calls; it wasn’t so easy to consider leaving town altogether, not when things felt unfinished.

Her bare feet stuck to the floor as she walked back to her bedroom. She needed to rip off the band-aid and admit defeat, but if she said the words out loud, everything would change. Even if she wanted to go back, the way was blocked.

Emma snatched her phone off the bed, thumbing in her passcode. The voicemail icon taunted Emma. The smart thing would be to delete the messages. But she hadn’t cleaned her voicemail in weeks.

“Oh hell,” she muttered, tapping the last message.

He was clearly drunk, his accent more pronounced, but she could still understand him through the long pauses. “Swan. Emma…dammit pick up. Please? I know this is a shit thing. But I don’t know–.”

The message cut off abruptly and he hadn’t called back. She pressed the second message on the list. It was more of the same. She switched to the text messages, zeroing in the photo he’d sent around eight and the message bubble that followed. “It’s pink. I told her you won’t like it but she didn’t listen.”

Emma paced her room twice. She wasn’t the kind of person to imagine other people’s weddings, but Ruby’s tastes seemed more dark red and crystal. Nothing like the tiered dress in the picture Killian had forwarded.

Emma tapped out one line: “Ruby doesn’t seem like the pink dress type.”

His response was immediate: “She isn’t. Granny’s idea.”

She smiled. Granny didn’t seem like the pink frills type either. Emma touched his name and tapped the speaker icon while the call connected.

"Swan?” He answered on the second ring, clearly surprised.

“Why didn’t you tell them?” Them being Granny and Ruby.

There was a long pause before he replied. Emma watched the seconds tick past on the screen.

He sighed heavily on the other end. “I don’t know.“

Emma hesitated, her dry throat almost unbearable. She had warmed to Granny immediately. The first time they met, the older woman had hugged Emma tightly and insisted that she stop with the “Missus Lucas crap and just call me Granny like everyone else.” It was the first time in Emma’s life she’d called anyone anything other than their actual name. 

Killian’s voice came through the speaker. "I’ll tell her you’re busy.”

“I’ll do it.” Her hand was sweaty against her phone case.

She had to be out of her mind, leaping into an impossible situation that was going to hurt worse than anything else she’d ever done. But it wasn’t for her, it was for Ruby and Granny (and him if she was being honest).

“Are you certain?”

“Of course I am,” she snapped, hands shaking. “Text me the details.”

Emma ended the call before she could change her mind (or say something she’d regret).  She felt like she was going to leap out of an airplane without a parachute.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Nine months earlier…** _

_“You’re avoiding me.” He slid onto the empty barstool next to Emma, one hand loose around his glass._

_She looked away from the commercial playing on the over-large television above the bar._

_He’d like to imagine her cheeks had flushed but the light was such crap that he couldn’t properly notice._

_They’d been at odds for nearly two weeks, since the damn Thanksgiving dinner that Kristoff had convinced everyone to attend. Normally Killian would have gone to see Granny (it wasn’t his holiday to celebrate but it was four days away from work), but Anna’s older sister had planned a visit and even though only three of their friends observed the holiday, the plans took shape._

_Killian had never considered what Emma did for Thanksgiving; he’d shared a cab with Cyrus to the airport once, and Anna usually went to her aunt’s house in Vermont. The rest of their friends used the holiday as an excuse to drink too much at lunch and bet loudly (and badly) on American football, or binge-watch a television series._

_But this year, Anna had wrangled everyone into Thanksgiving (a proper one, she’d insisted, not caring that most everyone had no childhood memories to judge hers against). He’d been nearly two hours late, the trains slow and unreliable on such a busy day, and when he finally arrived, Kristoff had met him at the door, ordering Killian not to mention the acrid smell of burnt food or the disaster in the kitchen._

_The coffee table was littered with empty wine bottles and the remains of two pies. But it was Elsa’s expression, the way she’d snapped her head towards Emma when Killian extended his hand, that made him want to turn around and fight his way back across the city (mass transit on a holiday being every bit the nightmare he’d imagined)._

_Elsa had been polite but Killian could tell he’d missed something significant while he was stuck in transit hell. Swan wouldn’t look at him for the entire evening. He’d blamed it on the wine. But two days later she’d nearly run out of the bar when he arrived. He knew something was wrong._

_Tonight Graham was no help, too deep in his cups to make sense. He’d pushed Killian toward the bar, muttering something about a wolf and an evil queen. Faced with the choice between his drunken mate and Emma, Killian would chose Swan every time._

_“I’m quite perceptive you know.” He gestured at the space between their bodies, leaning closer to her shoulder. “And this is you avoiding me.”_

_Emma turned to face him completely and he tried not to notice the way her necklace fell between her breasts (barely covered by her blouse). Judging by the smirk on her face, she’d noticed him staring. “Really?” she challenged._

_He leaned closer, ignoring the conversations pressing in from all sides, his mouth a breath away from her ear. “Aye.”_

_Emma let out a humorless laugh and leaned back. “Say I am avoiding you. What’s the big deal?”_

_Killian scratched the back of his neck with his right hand, elbow pointing in her direction. “You’re clearly pissed about something.“ They’d been friends long enough that they’d had a few arguments, but they’d never been at a stalemate. Not like this._

_“And what, you’re here to rescue me?” Emma took a quick sip from her glass, licking away foam from the corner of her mouth._

_Before Killian could answer, he felt the heavy weight of someone’s arm across his shoulders. Graham was standing between them, one arm over Killian and the other balanced on Emma’s shoulder. “You giving Jones a rough go?”_

_Kilian spun to face his friend. “Nothing I can’t handle,” he retorted but Graham was too far gone to listen._

_Graham leaned heavily on Killian, addressing Emma. “He’s not good at this,” Graham told her, earning a jab in the ribs from Killian._

_"And Emma-”_

_She groaned when Graham’s weight shifted to her shoulders._

_Before he could tell Killian anything about Emma, she pushed him upright, one hand clapped over Graham’s mouth. “You’re drunk,” she proclaimed, dropping her hand and ducking beneath Graham’s arm._

_Graham swayed on his feet. “A bit.”_

_Killian pushed his glass away. “Let’s head out then.” It was nearly nine, the happy hour crowd long gone, and the bar had become crowded and noisy._

_Emma took a long pull from her glass and stood up. “Good idea.”_

_Graham reached into his leather jacket and pulled out his cellphone. Emma scowled but didn’t say anything, pulling on her own coat. Killian frowned; he was missing something. He retrieved his coat from their table. When he made it back to Emma’s side, Graham was already gone._

_“Ready?” she asked, wrapping her scarf around her neck. Killian followed Emma out of the bar. Graham was already on the sidewalk, bent over his phone, his thumbs tapping the screen steadily. He looked up at Emma and Killian._

_“Emma!” Graham had put away his phone and staggered towards them, a wide smile on his face._

_The cold air was bracing and Killian yanked the zipper of his coat higher._

_“Come on,” she ordered Graham, turning left and beginning to walk. Killian fell into step beside her, hands in the pockets of his coat._

_“Did Will leave?” she asked Killian as they approached a crosswalk, stopping at the curb for the light to change._

_“Yeah. With the redhead.” Killian stomped his feet. His thin coat was no match for the wind._

_“At least someone’s night is going-” Emma grabbed Graham’s hand with a sigh before he walked into the street. Fortunately the light changed and Emma released his hand. Graham moved past them, shuffling across the intersection and continuing down the sidewalk._

_Emma’s boots clicked against the pavement. “I guess Regina didn’t answer him,” she told Killian, barely loud enough for him to catch all the words._

_“They’re on the outs again?” No one was quite sure what kind of relationship Graham had with Regina (especially since none of their friends had ever met the woman in the question), but lately things sounded rocky._

_“I guess. He didn’t really say.”_

_Graham stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. “Let’s get tacos,” he proclaimed._

_“Later mate,” Killian answered._

_Graham reached for Emma’s hands and spun her around in the middle of the sidewalk. Her blonde hair flew out like a banner. “Come on Em! Let’s get the hell out of here!”_

_“And go where?” She dropped Graham’s hands and resumed walking._

_“New York!” Graham’s voice was too loud. Killian lingered next to his friend, beers heavy in his stomach._

_Emma didn’t slow down, her hair sliding over her shoulders. “No way. I’ve done the New York thing, remember? Not for me. You’re on your own.”_

_They caught up with Emma as she skirted a man walking his dog. Graham tugged on Emma’s elbow. “But it’d be different,” he whined. “We could go together.”_

_Emma looked behind Graham’s back and caught Killian’s eye, her expression unreadable. Her nose was red from the cold. “No. Maybe Killian will go with you.”_

_Graham lurched right. Killian grabbed his friend before Graham careened into a group of young women snapping photos of each other._

_Emma’s mouth was pinched. “I’m going to get a cab. You two hang out for a minute okay?” She didn’t wait for Killian to answer, going into the street, left arm raised high overhead._

_Killian helped Graham lean against the signal pole. He was getting too old for this nonsense._

_Shots had been a bad idea. He blamed Will, who had abandoned them for a redhead and her giggling friends. Or Cyrus who’d left after only one beer, blaming the commute to his new apartment (forty minutes and two trains from the city). And Kristoff’s insistence that everyone travel out of the city to celebrate a holiday that wasn’t applicable to most of them (all because Anna needed to prove to her older sister that she could handle a major holiday)._

_A cab pulled up to the curb and Killian shuffled to the curb with Graham’s arm across his shoulders. Emma opened the door so Killian could load Graham into the backseat._

_“Can you manage him?”_

_She shrugged. “Not the first time.”_

_Killian leaned one hand against the cab’s roof. “My place is closer. He can crash on the sofa. Won’t be the first time for that either.”_

_Emma shook her head and grabbed the door frame. “Go home. I can manage one drunk idiot.”_

_“I heard that,” Graham called from inside the cab._

_Killian hesitated but Emma slid onto the backseat of the car. “It’s fine,” she said over her shoulder. Killian waited until the door had closed and the cab merged into traffic before he turned towards his apartment._

_He lived directly over a fitness center, in a corner building almost entirely devoid of character. It was a narrow unit with a lofted bed and galley kitchen. But the rent was reasonable, his commute tolerable, and it was significantly better than the basement unit he’d been renting._

_The lamp posts were decorated with snowflakes. He needed to finalize his Christmas plans - he was taking the week off between Christmas and New Year’s Day but hadn’t decided when he was going to see Granny._

_Killian didn’t bother turning on the lights. He’d left the curtains open (blackout curtains were the only way he could sleep past seven) and the pharmacy across the street was a perfect source of light._

_His phone buzzed. The text was from Emma. “You were right.”_

_Kilian swiped his thumb over the screen. “I tried to be a gentleman,” he typed back, fingers sliding onto the wrong keys. It took three tries to complete the message. Perhaps he was more drunk than he’d realized._

_The phone was silent. Killian dropped onto the sofa, his phone on the cushion beside his leg. He swung his legs onto the cushions, dropping his head against the armrest. Unable to get comfortable, he moved down the couch so his head was on the cushion (once again grateful he’d spent two days searching for a sofa that was long enough to fit his entire body)._

_—_

_Killian woke up to sunlight in his eyes. He rolled left and landed hard on the floor. “Fuck.” He glared at the offending curtains, still pulled back, head already pounding. Killian stood up too quickly, his headache doubling. He yanked the curtains closed and flung himself back onto the couch._

_His phone was digging into his back. Killian pulled it from beneath his body. Three texts from Emma, the first nearly two hours after his last message. “I know.” The next had arrived a few seconds after: “Are you awake?”_

_The most recent was less than twenty minutes ago: “breakfast?”_

_His fingers moved automatically. It wasn’t the first time they’d texted back and forth to smooth over a fight, but it was the first time he didn’t why they were on the outs._

_“Sure,” he typed back. “Name the place.”_

_She sent back one of his favorite diners, closer to work than his apartment, but worth the trip. Killian’s finger hovered over the screen. He shouldn’t have called her out for avoiding him; he should have left things exactly as they were. She was probably trying to untangle herself._

_“Give me 30 minutes,” he wrote._

_She responded instantly. “Whoever gets there first gets the table.”_

_Killian had showered and dressed in record time. Once outside, he buttoned his coat against the cold air. He preferred the cold without snow and ice._

_The diner was mostly empty but considering it was 7:45 on a Saturday morning, Killian wasn’t surprised. He slid onto a wooden bench, facing the door. The waitress was too cheerful for such an early hour but she brought two coffees in record time. He was midway through his second cup when Emma came through the narrow restaurant._

_“Sorry,” she said, unwinding her red scarf from around her neck. Her face was pale but the tip of her nose and the tops of her ears were red. She wrapped both hands around the coffee mug._

_Killian tipped his cup in her direction. “You were up early.”_

_“Didn’t sleep much.” She gulped down half the coffee without adding cream or sugar. Her eyes were red._

_“Are you alright?” Regardless of what she wanted to tell him, Killian couldn’t ignore that she looked awful._

_The corner of her mouth twisted into a smile that was more like a grimace. “I guess. You were-”_

_Their waitress interrupted before Emma could say more. Killian gripped the mug handle tightly. Emma ordered an orange juice and accepted the menu with a smile. When the waitress left, Killian leaned forward._

_“You were saying?” He was impatient and felt out of his element. Usually if he was having an early weekend breakfast, it was at home (alone). He didn’t know if he’d ever been alone with Emma like this, especially not at such an ungodly hour._

_“You were right last night.” The words came out in a rush and Killian had to wait for his brain to catch up. Emma slumped over her coffee. “I was avoiding you,” she admitted with a sheepish expression._

_“Ah.” Killian didn’t know how to respond. He should get up and leave the restaurant. She was his best friend’s roommate (and possibly more, judging by the way Graham had clung to her last night). “And you dragged me out here at this hour to tell me that?” He couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “Could have done that by text.”_

_Emma’s cheeks flushed pink. “Yeah. I know.” She raked her hands through her hair. “This was a bad idea.”_

_“Swan.” He gripped her hand before she could get up. “I didn’t mean to upset you last night. I was considerably drunk and-”_

_“It’s okay,” she interrupted, turning her over so their palms were pressed together. “I know.”_

_The silence swelled between them. Killian stared across the table. Emma didn’t blink and he felt like he was staring Liam down (his brother had always won at staring contests). When his eyes began to burn, Killian reluctantly looked away._

_“What’s going on with you and Graham?”_

_“Nothing.” Emma shrugged. “He was wasted. I was pissed.” She rolled her eyes. “Pretty normal around our place lately.”_

_“Because of Thanksgiving?”_

_She groaned in defeat, wrapping both hands around her mug. “I hate holidays.”_

_Their waitress, who must have been watching the entire exchange, returned to their table. She deposited Emma’s orange juice and a straw. “Do you two need another minute? Or are you ready to order?”_

_Killian looked at Emma. It was her move._

_Emma inhaled sharply and looked at the waitress. “I’ll have three chocolate chip pancakes. And a side of bacon.”_

_Killian’s leg was nearly twitching beneath the table but his voice was steady when he ordered. “I’ll take an omelet,” he said, glancing over at the waitress, “with feta and tomato.”_

_“Home fries and toast okay?”_

_He barely registered the question but made an affirmative response. After their waitress left, he asked her what had happened at Anna’s party before he arrived._

_Emma grimaced. “Nothing important. They were all giving me grief about you. I was pretty drunk and said something stupid.”_

_He leaned forward. “What? That you’re madly in love with me?”_

_She kicked him gently under the table, the toe of her boot grazing his shin. “No.” But her cheeks flushed pink._

_His stomach growled with hunger._

_Emma didn’t look up, tracing her finger across the wooden tabletop. “Graham was going on and on last night. About you and me and how we were perfect for each other. Lots of carpe diem crap.” She glanced at Killian to gauge his reaction._

_“Ah. So I have him to thank for this early morning rendezvous.” His smile was forced; there was something else she wasn’t saying._

_“Maybe,” she replied with a smile. “I need to tell you something.”_

_He grimaced. “I’ve found when a woman says that, I’m rarely in for a pleasant conversation.”_

_“It’s important.” She shrugged, clearly uncomfortable. “You don’t really know me, Killian.”_

_“Really?” He quirked his eyebrow and began to tick off facts on his left hand. “I know you have the taste buds of a five year old. You grew up in Minnesota. You hate Will’s jokes and apparently Thanksgiving.” He paused. “Right so far?”_

_Emma nodded. “Yeah but that’s not…”_

_“Hold on.” He took a sip of coffee, gathering momentum. “You don’t like lunch meat. Or frogs. And you don’t get close to people.”_

_“Are you done yet?” Emma stared at Killian over the rim of her coffee mug, eyebrows raised expectantly._

_“And your right hook is no joke.”_

_“I told you I was sorry,” she replied with a smile. “Besides boxing was Alice’s idea.”_

_“I remember,” Killian answered, rubbing his jaw with his right hand._

_Emma put down her coffee mug. “I’m serious. I need you to listen.”_

_Killian leaned back in the booth. “Alright. So what’s this big secret?”_

_She took a quick breath. “When I moved to Boston, I didn’t know anybody. I found this crappy apartment online. It was three other girls in what probably should have been to be one bedroom.”_

_Killian nodded. He’d rented a basement apartment his first year after college that flooded at least twice a week. Cyrus had lasted two weeks in a one-bedroom loft with a bloke who preferred to sleep on the floor (naked)._

_“I’d been here in a couple of weeks and I met this guy. Neal.” Emma let out a humorless snort. "He was….he said worked in finance.”_

_“Alright.” Dread filled Killian, different scenarios flashing through his head, each more awful than the previous._

_“And everything was fine. We hung out for a few weeks, went on some dates. Nothing huge, you know? But I’d only signed a three-month lease. And work was so crazy that I was just going to sign another one, to give me some more time. Everything was six months or more, you know?”_

_Killian nodded in understanding. It was hard to find an ideal place without significant searching. Will had used Alice’s apartment as his mailing address for nearly a year as he hopped from one couch to another._

_“So he asked me to move in with him. And it was too soon but I needed a place to live.” Emma didn’t wait for him to reply. “It wasn’t bad. The apartment was really nice. Way better than where I’d been.” Emma took a quick sip from her coffee cup. “Until I came home from work one day and there was an eviction notice under the door. Apparently he hadn’t paid the rent in two months.” Her eyes welled up with tears but her voice was steady._

_Killian leaned forward, arms slamming onto the tabletop, ready to find this Neal and pummel him senseless._

_Emma grabbed his hand and he reluctantly met her gaze. “Let me finish.”_

_Killian wondered if Graham had known about Neal (doubtful since he’d never mentioned anything)._

_Emma pulled her hand back. “It was a mess. His stuff was gone. I called the landlord and he didn’t care that I’d paid my half of the rent because he’d never seen it.”_

_Killian absorbed the information quietly, swallowing the urge to dangle Neal off a roof._

_“I didn’t know what to do,” Emma admitted. “I packed everything that night and moved it into my car. I was too freaked out to stay at the apartment.” She traced her left hand over the silverware. “I thought I was going to have to start sleeping in the car if I couldn’t find a place. But you know the rest. ”_

_Killian nodded. Graham had been moaning about needing a new flatmate since Locksley moved out but hadn’t liked any of the applicants. He’d sent Killian a cryptic text mid-week, in between messages about coordinating teams for their weekly football match in the park, saying he’d found a new person to take the room. A week later he’d arranged drinks to make introductions; no one realized until Emma walked in that Graham was living with a girl._

_The waitress returned with two plates of food. Emma spread butter across the stack of pancakes, before reaching for the syrup bottle. He could tell she was waiting for him to say something. She drenched her food in syrup, trailing a piece of bacon through the puddle and offering it to him._

_He shook his head. Emma popped it into her mouth with a ‘suit yourself’ shrug._

_Killian tore off a bite of toast. It was nearly burned on the corners but he didn’t notice. He choked down the bite._

_“I met Milah my second year at University,” he began hoarsely. Killian dug into his omelet, shoveling two forkfuls into his mouth before continuing. “We were at some basement party. She was a year older. I thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world.”_

_Emma snorted but didn’t interrupt._

_He could still remember the way time seemed to expand when he was with Milah, until it snapped back, jarring them into reality. They’d spent hours tangled beneath her comforter, finding times when her roommate wasn’t around (he lived in a triple at the time)._

_He’d spent the summer between sophomore and junior year in Storybrooke. Milah had gone to LA for an internship; she blamed the time difference and her crazy schedule for not keeping in touch. But whenever Killian had been ready to abandon hope, she’d call late at night (her voice softened by a few drinks) and they’d talk nonsense. They’d come back to campus and picked up right where they’d left off; Milah was busy with her sorority but was living off campus, so after the bars closed it was a shorter walk to her apartment than his dorm room._

_“She was the sun and I was Iccarus.”_

_“Poetic,” Emma observed dryly, tucking a bite of food into her cheek. Killian smirked._

_His story paralleled Emma’s too well. It didn’t hurt to talk about Milah, not after so long, but it hurt to remember himself at twenty. Killian could still remember the way his world had tilted and crashed. “I wanted her to come to Storybrooke over break. We never talked about it, but Granny knew there was someone. She wanted to meet Milah.”_

_“She had a boyfriend, didn’t she?” Emma tilted her head slightly to the side, waiting for him to answer._

_Killian nodded. “Aye. Imagine every Texas stereotype. That was him.”_

_Emma shook her head. “Clearly she didn’t have a type.”_

_The teasing relaxed Killian. “You don’t think I’m the ranching sort, Swan?”_

_She smiled, a genuine one that crinkled the corners of her eyes. “Not at all.”_

_“You wound me.” Killian sank his fork into the pile of potatoes._

_Her forehead wrinkled. “Are we okay?” she asked._

_“Aye,” Killian answered, “we’re alright.”_

_Emma placed her fork onto the edge of her plate. She reached for the coffee pot, pouring more into her mug. She looked over at Killian, one eyebrow raised. “Want more?”_

_He slid it across the table. She poured the coffee quickly, not looking up from the mug until it was full._

_Emma handed it back to him, their fingers brushing. “I want to ask you out.” The words tumbled out quickly. “On a date,” she clarified needlessly._

_If he hadn’t been sitting down, Killian might have stumbled forward. Instead he gestured between them. “I think you already did.”_

_Emma grimaced, a red flush spreading down her neck and across her chest. “Forget it.”_

_“No.” He reached for her hand again, wrapping his fingers over her knuckles. “I accept.”_

_“Oh.” Emma shook her head. “Well okay.” Emma reached across the table and snagged a forkful of Killian’s potatoes with a grin._


	5. Chapter 5

Emma turned her car onto the familiar street in front of the library. She hadn’t missed dodging crowds around the Square while searching for a space large enough to park her ancient Bug. But she had missed the outline of the church spires against the sky, the precise shade of the faded cooper (a light turquoise green that reminded her of sea glass). She pulled her car close to the Square, eyes fixed on the empty fire lane. 

She stared out her windshield, tapping her palm against the steering wheel. It wouldn’t do any good to honk, the noise would get swallowed by the vehicles coming too fast off the interstate, hurrying to beat the light. Traffic should be light. It was Thursday afternoon and they’d settled on 2pm deliberately (too late for the lunch rush but too early for the commute home).

She should have said no when Ruby called her to confirm. She should have made up an excuse, some conference for work that necessitated her being across the country (or on another continent), anything to avoid this madness. 

But she’d said yes and was almost immediately thrown into the middle of wedding planning. Emma had stumbled through her role as substitute bridesmaid: facetiming with Ruby, skimming through endless messages between Ruby, Ashley and Mary Margaret, and pretending to have an opinion on things like candles and readings.

Three minutes past the hour, Killian crested the steps of the library, messenger bag over his shoulder and gym bag in his left hand. She leaned across the passenger seat and flicked the door lock (it always stuck and since she was usually alone, Emma didn’t want to pay for the repair). She snapped her seatbelt back into place as he stopped beside the car.

He yanked the door open, tossing his larger bag onto the backseat. It landed beside her bag (she’d worry about the wrinkles in her dress later). Killian slid the messenger back onto the floor, settling himself against the worn leather seats. “Hello Swan.”

She swallowed quickly. “Hey. You packed light.”

He made a non-committal noise, tugging his seatbelt across his chest. She bit back a snarky dig about work surviving without him; she’d bet twenty bucks he had his laptop in his bag (in case work called while they were away). Emma considered herself fortunate that he hadn’t already checked his email. She still wasn’t exactly sure what Killian did for the library (something about catalogs and coding that involves the furious tapping of his fingers over keyboards) but getting into an argument would sour the air.

Instead Emma shifted the car into drive and pulled into traffic. Killian made an exaggerated grab for the roof. “Hang on Jones,” she said, flicking her blinker with one hand. 

The radio station sputtered. Emma grimaced as she spun the dial without taking her eyes off the road; she couldn’t spend five hours in the car without music. But at the moment she hated merging into the half-circle of traffic leading to the highway more than anything.

“Here.” Killian pushed her fingers away gently. “Let me.” He unwound a white cable from inside the glove compartment and began to expertly connect the necessary pieces to hook up her ipod up to the car’s ancient radio. It was, according to the Internet, perfectly safe, but it made Emma nervous. She didn’t mind technology, not really, but she didn’t want her car battery shorting out in exchange for music. 

Killian, on the other hand, had no such qualms. 

The playlist he selected was one of her favorites, not surprising since he always let her pick the music, but Emma wasn’t about to read into it. It was a long drive and this weekend would be the longest they’d spent together since their breakup. She was done calling it a separation; it was a breakup, no matter how juvenile the term sounded.

Emma wrapped her fingers around the wheel. “Did you want to stop along the way?” She’d prefer to drive straight-through but Emma couldn’t think of anything else to ask.

“Doesn’t matter,” Killian replied, staring out the window as she pulled onto the entrance ramp.

“Okay.” If they couldn’t survive ten minutes in the car, Emma didn’t think they had any hope of maintaining the happy couple facade for three days.

She’d only been to Storybrooke twice; they’d taken the bus the first time, her car the second. She had thought he was joking about not owning a car but Killian confessed that he hated to drive in the city. Fortunately the Bug had survived the round-trip journey. 

“I talked to Ruby this morning.” Killian tapped his left hand against his thigh in time with the music. “She said almost the whole town is coming.” 

“Not surprising.” Emma had heard the same thing on Tuesday; apparently having a wedding ceremony (and reception) in the park meant that everyone in town could attend, whether they were formally invited or not. 

Driving the familiar stretch of highway, ignoring her usual exits as they left Boston, Emma was gripped by the familiar urge to run. This farce would never work; Ruby would find it, or worse Granny. Emma couldn’t bear the idea of hurting the older woman. 

“Swan.” 

His accent rolled over her name like a wave cresting the beach. No one had said her name like Killian did. It relaxed her, hearing him call her Swan (almost as if things were normal).

Her eyes flickered over at Killian. He was staring intently at her profile. 

“You alright?”

She nodded, pressing down on the accelerator. “I’m fine. Can you change this song? It’s driving me crazy.”  



	6. Chapter 6

Killian stepped out of the car with a jaw-cracking yawn. Emma hadn’t stopped, not once, and his legs were cramped from being bent at odd angles for nearly six hours. Storybrooke never seemed to change.

The sidewalk in front of Granny’s was empty, as were the outdoor tables. Killian twisted his neck, trying to work out the knots that had formed. Swan’s car was far too small.

“Killian?”

Killian glanced to his right. The woman waved her right hand as she made her way down the sidewalk. She was carrying a large canvas bag in her left hand and shuffled forward, her pregnant belly clearly visible beneath her open coat.

“Mary Margaret,” Killian replied, jogging toward her and relieving her of the bag. It weighed more than he thought but it was too dark to see what was inside. Something for the wedding, no doubt.

The short woman wrapped one arm around Killian’s shoulders in a quick hug. “You look good.”

Killian returned the hug awkwardly, careful to avoid her belly. He’d never spent much time around pregnant women. Mary Margaret had been Ruby’s best friend since kindergarten but suddenly she was a stranger to Killian. “Where’s your lesser half?”

David Nolan and Mary Margaret had been joined at the hip since they were teenagers, marrying three weeks after they graduated college. Killian kept in touch mostly through Ruby (and the occasional Happy Birthday message).

Mary Margaret stepped around Killian. “He’s bringing the truck over. Emma, hi!” She waved enthusiastically, not caring that they’d only met once before.

Emma pushed herself away from the Bug and waved back lamely. “Hey.”

Killian glanced over at Emma. She’d plastered on a smile that only just disguised how uncomfortable she must be feeling. He lifted the bag to draw Mary Margaret’s attention, lest she try to hug Emma (he knew Swan would point that car back to Boston without hesitation). “What the devil is all this?”

“Rope,” Mary Margaret replied, her voice taking on the cadence she must use with her students (elementary, Killian didn’t remember the exact grade).  "Glue guns, and ribbons of course. David has the mason jars.“

“What for?” Killian was already behind.

This time Emma answered, coming up behind him. “Ruby wants candles lining the aisle,” she supplied, looking at him with an unfamiliar expression.

“Well I couldn’t find the ones she wanted,” Mary Margaret admitted, “but we found a ton of mason jars. They’re bigger but sturdier.”

Emma pulled her phone out of her pocket, sliding her finger over the screen. “This is the picture she sent,” she replied, turning the glowing screen to show Killian. “What do you think?”

He squinted at the screen. The candles in the photo were inside narrow holders. For a moment, he considered voicing his objection (and judging by the smirk on Emma’s face, she was waiting for it as well) but he resisted.

“Looks perfect,” he lied. He had no idea; he was a librarian not a decorator.

Mary Margaret giggled behind them. “That’s what David said.”

Emma tucked her phone away. “Did Ruby okay it?”

Mary Margaret jerked her chin towards Killian. “She will if he tells her.”

“Hear that?” He hadn’t heard Emma sound so light in a long time. “You’re responsible for whether we have to spend tomorrow hunting down hurricane lamps. Ready to be persuasive Jones?”

She sounded like herself but he could see the tension in her eyes. Emma was clearly stretching herself thin to keep up appearances (for his sake, he reminded himself). It was his fault she was here. He should have told Granny the truth, that he wasn’t with Emma anymore, that he hadn’t fought for their relationship.

He knew what Granny would say, the same thing she’d told him ten dozen times growing up: that a man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets. It had stung when he was sixteen but soon became a mantra in the back of his mind. He’d ignored it over the years but standing next to Emma, the words rang loudly in his head.

He shot Emma a wicked smile. It was almost too easy to fall into the familiar rhythms. They moved in tandem, his legs adjusting to her stride, his one hand tight around the bag’s canvas straps.

They followed Mary Margaret through the gate, up the stairs and into the diner. Killian paused in the doorway. He’d spent most of his high school afternoons in the diner, pouring coffee and drinks, clearing tables and sweeping the floor. It smelled the same: a combination of coffee, sugar and something fried.

Only one booth was occupied and Leroy was sitting at the stool closest the door, one hand around his beer mug. Whether it was true or not, Granny called Leroy her first customer. He took most of his meals at her counter, regardless of the daily specials or changing seasons.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Leroy observed, turning slightly in his chair and looking straight at Killian.

By breakfast tomorrow, the entire town would know that Killian Jones was back in Storybrooke (whether they cared or not).

“Hello Leroy.” Balancing the bag on an empty stool, he shook the man’s outstretched hand. Killian had earned extra money during his college summers by helping Leroy make repairs on his ancient boat. It wasn’t sea-worthy but it hadn’t sunk yet.

The kitchen door swung open and he saw a blur of red and white before Ruby rounded the counter and slammed into him.

“Killian!” Her arms went around his shoulders. Emma lunged for the bag, steadying it before it crashed to the floor, and Killian wrapped both arms around Ruby.

“Hey Red.” The childhood nickname fell easily from his lips. He pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Let a bloke breathe.”

She released him with a gentle shove. “Wimp.” Ruby turned her attention on Emma. “You made it!” She swooped in for a one-armed hug before Emma could duck out of reach. “What’s this?” Ruby’s attention flickered from Emma to the canvas bag.

Killian chuckled. Ruby had the attention span of a flea.

Before Mary Margaret could answer, the door slammed open. David stood in the doorway, a large cardboard box balanced in his hands. “I come on official wedding business,” he proclaimed with a grin.

“Oh are those the lanterns?” Ruby’s eyes lit up.

Killian intercepted her before she could pounce on the box. “Listen Red, Emma told me about your idea.” He didn’t look away from Ruby’s face (one look at Emma and he’d break into laughter). “And I don’t think those tiny glasses will hold up. You need something sturdy.”

“Like what, a blowtorch?” Ruby shot back. She stepped around Killian and lifted a mason jar from the box. “Oh guys!”

Emma had the same pained expression Killian imagined he had (eyes wide with barely suppressed panic, lips frozen in a half-smile, half-grimace). If Ruby didn’t like these, a trip out of town was looming in their future.

Fortunately, Ruby was beaming. “These are perfect!”

Mary Margaret let out a sigh and sank into an empty chair. “Good,” she said, one hand resting on the swell of her stomach. Emma leaned against the opposite chair. They looked simultaneously relieved and deflated.

Killian wondered how many messages had flown back and forth about the glassware. Judging by their expressions, more than a few.

“Ruby will you let that boy through before he drops the whole thing?” Granny’s voice came from the back hallway. She gestured over her shoulder. “David take those into my office. Ruby, help him.”

“Yes Granny,” Ruby replied, picking up the large supply bag and following David.

Granny shook her head reprovingly. “I swear I don’t know what to do with that girl.” She fixed her blue eyes on Killian. “Did you think you could sneak in?”

“Never,” he replied, crossing the linoleum floor.

Granny, like her namesake business, never changed. She hugged fiercely, wrapping both arms around your ribs until you weren’t sure if she was trying to squeeze you or lift you off the ground.

“You alright?” Granny whispered in Killian’s ear.

“Course,” he replied.

Her eyes, hidden behind her glasses, saw through him. “Mmm,” she replied, but didn’t press. Killian knew she’d find her moment to corner him. Instead she released him and went for Emma.

“You’re too skinny,” she chastised Emma, pulling her into a hug. “But I’d murder someone for hair like yours.”

Emma’s cheeks flushed red over Granny’s shoulder and Killian chuckled. Granny stepped back. “Now, I’ve got room nine set up for you. Have Diane give you the key.”

All of the rooms had two keys: a regular and an old-fashioned one. He’d long since memorized which room had which key, and room nine had an ornate swan carved into it. Granny gave them the same room each time: it had been an inside joke when they came up in June to spend a week disconnected from the real world, but he didn’t think Emma would appreciate the humor this time. Killian hoped Emma didn’t notice until they were settled in; she hated to unpack more than once.

“Did you eat?” He heard Granny ask Emma as he returned to the car to get their bags.

There was no need to lock the car in Storybrooke. Most of the crimes that David investigated involved bored high school kids looking for entertainment (usually at the expense of Archie Hooper’s garden). He pulled his bag from the backseat, swinging the messenger bag strap over his chest.

Emma’s bag barely took up any room. He lifted the garment bag out last, draping it over one arm. It would be easy to slide the zipper down the black plastic and sneak a look at her dress, but Killian knew better.

Instead of going through the diner, Killian took the path around to the front porch. He climbed the wooden porch steps quickly. The sign could do with a fresh coat of paint but the porch lights were burning bright (he’d replaced the ancient fixtures two summers before, much to Granny’s chagrin, but the energy-efficient bulbs seemed to last longer).

Killian shifted the luggage to one side, turning the doorknob with his left hand.

The foyer smelled like freshly baked cookies (no candles or air fresheners for Granny) and Killian’s stomach growled. Gingersnaps were one of his favorites. He turned left, crossing the faded rug and stopping in front of the large desk.

“You must be Killian,” the woman behind the desk said as she stood up. Her curly red hair was pulled back in a ponytail that swung back and forth as she moved.

“I am. Granny warned you?” She didn’t look familiar but he hadn’t called Storybrooke home in a long time. Things did change, even in small towns.

She smiled, retrieving the key from beneath the desk. “Ruby.”

“Ah.” Killian curved his finger around the plastic green card. Maybe Emma wouldn’t remember the room number. “Thank you,” he said, turning sharply to avoid colliding with the carved wooden post jutting out from the desk.  He’d been telling Granny for years that it was a hazard to have the desk where it was, but she didn’t listen. Instead she’d added cookies to the far right side.

He snatched a gingersnap and popped it into his mouth, shifting Emma’s dress to his other arm as he turned away from the check-in desk. Killian stood in front of the staircase.

Room Nine was one of five rooms on the third level. All in there were fourteen guest rooms, spread across two floors.

He glanced left at the hallway that would take him to Granny’s apartment. It was a narrow efficiency with a proper bedroom on one end and a converted living room (turned bedroom) on the other, joined by a galley kitchen. When Killian moved to Boston, Ruby had claimed his room for her own. It wasn’t much, but it had been home.

The walk upstairs made Killian feel like he was a teenager again. He climbed the familiar carpeted steps, stopping on the landing between the second and third floors to see if it still creaked (much to his relief, it did).

He tried the doorknob and the door swung open. The desk lamp was on and the bed was still made up (he hated the idea of someone wasting time turning back the linens when he was perfectly capable of doing it himself). The curtains were still drawn back, giving him a perfect view of the Square.

Killian preferred Room Six which looked out over the forest; it had been the room where Killian had completed all of his college applications. He’d also assembled a volcano in the bathroom. Granny’s only complaint had been that the fake lava didn’t explode high enough for her liking.


	7. Chapter 7

Emma hesitated in the doorway, eyes darting around the room. She recognized the dark blue curtains and painted cream trim. This was the same room Granny always saved for them, even though Killian preferred a forest view. Desperate to have a few minutes to herself, she’d lied to Granny and said she wasn’t hungry, leaving Killian downstairs.

She could go back to the diner, find Killian and tell him that they couldn’t stay in this room with its purple quilt and blue wicker chair, but Emma was tired. She’d said yes to this ridiculous idea and it was too late to back out now.

Emma pulled her purse over her head, dropping it onto the wicker chair. She slipped her phone out of the deep center pocket and headed directly for the window seat. Her hip popped when she stretched her legs out over the cushion, back pressed against the wall.

Her phone had already connected to the wi-fi. Apparently Granny hadn’t changed the password like Killian insisted she do every three months. Not that Emma was complaining. She personally thought “TheRollyJoger” was an excellent password. Killian disagreed, even though it was his mistake that created the password; Granny had wanted Jolly Roger but Killian had mistyped. And so “TheRollyJoger” became Granny’s personal wi-fi password. The guest password changed seasonally; Emma remembered the long discussion about when AppleCider gave way to PumpkinSpice.

Storybrooke was still behind the times in most things but since Granny insisted on doing most of her ordering online, she had one of the best connections in town. Emma suspected that Killian had been the origin behind the fast connection, but she’d never pushed it.

Emma scanned through her emails quickly, deleting most of them. She’d disabled her work account before leaving the office. Usually she’d check in during the weekend but this was different.

Ruby had sent a detailed schedule to Emma on Wednesday, with hourly breakdowns for Saturday. Tomorrow was the rehearsal dinner at Granny’s. On Saturday there were hair and makeup appointments blocked out and the photographer was going to start taking pictures at eleven. The ceremony itself was at two. Emma wasn’t sure how she was going to survive two days of smiling and small talk.

She hadn’t told anyone (not even Killian, even though he wouldn’t have been surprised) but she’d never been to a wedding before. It felt shameful. To compensate, she’d binge-watched more romantic comedies on Netflix than she would ever admit. The movies were predictable but not as horrible as she had feared (some were worse than others though). She wasn’t sleeping more than a few hours at a time, but the movies were perfect background noise for dozing on the couch.

Emma was midway through a game of angry birds when a knock at the door interrupted the quiet. Emma reluctantly stood up and crossed the room. When she twisted the doorknob, Killian stood in the hallway, balancing a tray in both hands.

“Oh. Hi.” She stepped aside to let Killian into the room. Emma caught a glimpse of a burger as he walked past.

He deposited the tray onto the window seat. “Granny said you’re a lousy liar.”

Emma traced her toe along the carpet’s edge. “I didn’t want to bother anyone.”

Killian tilted his head to the side. “Ruby’s pouring beers if you want to join us.”

She shook her head. “I’m pretty beat.”

“Alright.”

She gestured at the end table. “Take the key. I’ll probably pass out early.”

Killian studied her for a long minute but didn’t argue.

Emma waited until the door closed before she brought the tray onto the bed. Her mouth was already watering. Granny had sent up the usual staples: burger, fries and chocolate milkshake. She sat cross-legged on the comforter, not bothering to take off her shoes.

Emma dipped a fry into the mountain of ketchup. This room was where she’d slept with Killian for the first time (three days into the trip, snow falling outside the window and cheeks red from sitting on the porch for too long). In this room the ache in her chest didn’t hurt quite as much. This was where she’d told him about Ingrid.

* * *

_Emma could barely climb the stairs. The drive had taken close to seven hours and all she wanted to do was collapse on a bed (sofa or nearest flat surface where no one would step on her head). Granny had greeted them at the door, despite the late hour, and squeezed Emma’s ribs to the point of pain. She’d ignored their flimsy protests about not being hungry, sending them upstairs with an enormous bag of food. Emma knew she was exhausted because the sight of the metal swan hanging from the key made her eyes prickle with tears. It had been a long time since someone was waiting up for Emma to come home._

_The trip was all Killian’s fault. He’d suggested it in the first place, even though they’d only been dating two weeks and hadn’t slept together yet. It was Emma’s longest slow-build relationship and she insisted they were going as friends. She didn’t want to get attached to his family, only to have to forget them when she and Killian broke up. Nor did she want to intrude on someone else’s Christmas._

_But she didn’t have a real excuse. Emma had never ‘gone home’ for a holiday (she’d spent college staying on campus as long as possible, applying for all sorts of special permissions and waivers). Going home was something for other people, people who had homes waiting for them somewhere else._

_She hadn’t been planning to tell him about Ingrid, but after Killian had unpacked the takeaway cartons and they were sitting cross-legged on the queen-sized bed, Emma could feel the story choking her. “Granny seems great,” she said lamely._

_Killian nodded around the enormous bite he’d just taken. “She is,” he replied after he’d swallowed._

_Emma twisted the comforter between two fingers. She was starving and the burger smelled delicious but she needed to go. She couldn’t stay in this town and ruin their Christmas._

_Killian reached for her hand, his fingers resting on her knuckles. “What’s wrong?”_

_She reluctantly met his gaze. “Nothing. It’s fine.” Emma scooped up two fries in her free hand._

_“Liar.”_

_Emma dropped the fries. “I can’t do this.” The words made her feel worse. She was too old for running away but she didn’t know what else to do. It was too much, too soon._

_“Can’t do what?” He pushed his own container away, clearing the space between them._

_She blamed the room. Emma had spent years in rooms repurposed from one child to another, empty and anonymous spaces with mismatched furniture and no personality. But this place was different. This was the kind of room that had been furnished deliberately. It was the kind of place she would miss when she left._

_But Killian was still waiting for an answer, one hand on the comforter, the other on her knee._

_She didn’t know where to start. The beginning (left on the side of the road when she was a few days old) was too sad. Her early years, bouncing from one group home to another (with a brief interlude of almost two years with a family before the wife got pregnant and they sent Emma back into the shuffle) was nothing special. She knew dozens of kids with similar stories. Emma’s story had been completely unremarkable and ordinary, until she met Ingrid._

_“When I was fourteen, I got sent to live with this woman, Ingrid. I’d never been sent to a single person. Usually it was families. But there were two other boys there already. She wasn’t really old, maybe fifty.” Emma glanced over at Killian. He nodded, his hand warm through her jeans._

_She tried to explain Ingrid, skipping the broad strokes and focusing on the details: how she almost always wore her long blonde hair pulled back in a braid; how she favored bright patterned skirts in the summer and black jeans in the winter; that she only ever wore bracelets on her right wrist and hated the sound of bells._

_Emma knew she wasn’t capturing Ingrid correctly so she continued her story, staring down at the paisley pattern on the comforter. “I tried to run away the first night. I waited until maybe one or two and I figured she’d be asleep. But she was wide awake and sitting on the sofa.” Emma smiled at the memory. Ingrid had put down her book, as though she had been expecting Emma to work up the courage to run. “She said it was too late for the bus but if I stayed until the morning, she’d give me money for a ticket. I thought she was out of her mind.”_

_It was easier to talk without looking at Killian. She didn’t want to see his expression._

_“I argued with her, told her that I didn’t want to stay with her. Ingrid didn’t care. She just sat there and listened to me say these horrible things. I thought she was going to punish me or send me back. But she didn’t. She told me to go to bed and that we could continue talking when the sun was up. I went back upstairs and in the morning there was twenty dollars next to my backpack. She told me if I changed my mind, I could keep the money just in case. I stayed with her until I was seventeen.“_

_The rest of the story came out slowly: Ingrid had been diagnosed with cancer three years before she met Emma and had taken a bad turn when Emma was seventeen. The younger children (there were two besides Emma) had been moved to different families but Emma had threatened to run away (and she was five months shy of her eighteenth birthday so her caseworker had let Emma stay). She told Killian how Ingrid had been too weak to attend Emma’s graduation, so Emma had skipped the ceremony and they’d watched old movies instead. Ingrid had ordered almost all of Emma’s college things online (towels and bedding, sheets and plastic containers) but had never seen Emma’s dorm room._

_Emma’s voice broke when she told Killian about the phone call from Ingrid’s lawyer (without any family, he was her emergency contact). Ingrid died the Monday before Thanksgiving of Emma’s freshman year; Emma had spent her Thanksgiving break packing up the rest of the townhouse (later it was sold to pay the medical bills Ingrid had accumulated). She’d left Emma her ancient yellow Bug; the car was too small and the color garish, but it was the first thing that had ever belonged to Emma._

_“You never mentioned her before,” Killian said, his voice rough. It was more observation than accusation; neither of them talked much about the past._

_Emma rubbed her right thumb over the tattoo on her left wrist; she was used to being left behind._

_She never really talked about Ingrid. It was a part of her life she’d tried to pack away. But sitting in the small guest room, Emma missed her fiercely._

_“I got this,” she turned her wrist over to show Killian the small flower, “for her. She got the same thing on her ankle when she was turned forty.”_

_Killian lifted her hand and kissed the raised skin gently. “I’m sure she’d be proud of you.”_

* * *

Emma rubbed her hand over her burning eyes (she could feel her makeup collecting beneath her lids). The room was too small, filled with memories and ghosts. She drained the last of her milkshake and placed the tray on the coffee table.

Her glasses were a welcome relief after too many hours wearing her contact lenses. Emma left her clothes abandoned on a heap next to the chair. She was asleep within minutes of her head hitting the pillow.


	8. Chapter 8

The sound of a garbage truck backing up jarred Emma awake. She was on her stomach, one arm dangling over the edge of the bed, her cheek pressed against the mattress. The room was a haze of shadows and large shapes. Sunlight was streaming through the open curtains.

Emma reached for her glasses and blinked to clear her vision. Killian lay with his back to her, his body radiating heat. His clothes were neatly folded on the window seat, his bag on the floor. He could never did leave his clothes in a pile, even if he was drunk. She hadn’t heard him come back to the room.

It would be easy to fall back to sleep, to let herself relax and pretend nothing had changed. But this wasn’t one of the romantic comedies Emma had been watching for days. She couldn’t pretend things were normal. Not without a substantial amount of coffee.

She slipped from beneath the comforter, without disrupting Killian. Fortunately he slept like a log. Nothing short of a marching band (or his alarm clock, set to the loudest volume) could wake him up.

Emma retrieved her clothes from the chair and padded across the carpet to the bathroom. The shower steam would take care of the wrinkles. Her phone was still on the window seat.

Inside the bathroom, Emma rested her glasses on the small shelf. She leaned close to the mirror, studying her reflection critically. Despite the smears of mascara under both eyes she looked rested.

Emma fussed with her contacts before stepping into the shower. She hated not being able to see the labels on the small bottles without squinting. The shower spray was almost too hot but the bath products were just as luxurious as Emma remembered. Granny preferred an expensive brand of toiletries for her guests, far better than anything Emma could afford.

When she left the bathroom, wearing jeans and a bra, Killian was still sprawled across the mattress. Emma pulled a sweater over her head, wet hair flopping down her back. She wove her hair in a quick braid; it would be a mess later but she didn’t want to fight with a hair dryer before coffee. Putting in her contacts was enough of an effort.

The diner was crowded when Emma made her way downstairs and through the narrow hallway connecting the house with the restaurant.

“Hello stranger.” Granny poured a cup of coffee for Emma and slid it across the counter. “You just missed Ruby.”

Emma gulped down a sip of the coffee. “Where’d she go?”

“Picking up flowers for the centerpieces.” Granny chuckled. “I’d make myself scarce if I were you.”

“I think it’s a little late for that,” Emma admitted.

Granny crossed her arms over her chest. “You look like hell.”

Emma hid her smile behind her coffee mug. Granny rarely tempered her honest opinions. “Yeah. I know.”

“Want to talk about it?” Granny stared at Emma over the rims of her glasses.

Emma shook her head. “Not really.”

“Alright. Eggs or pancakes?” Emma knew that Granny wasn’t through with her questioning, not by a long shot, but the counter was full.

“Both,” Emma said with a grin.

Granny nodded. “Good. I told you, you’re too tiny for your own good. You better eat fast though, Ruby’s got a list longer than her arm for today.”

Once Granny had left, Emma wrapped her hands around her coffee mug.

“Emma?” The blonde woman behind the counter had stopped in front of her seat, a pot of coffee in her left hand.

Emma’s gaze flickered to the woman’s pregnant belly. “Ashley?” she asked, raising both eyebrows.

“Yes! Hi!” The other woman’s face lit up and if the counter wasn’t between them, Emma was sure Ashley would have gone for a hug.

What was it with people in this town and hugging? Emma had never spent so much time around huggers. Killian had teased her about it, but Emma didn’t care. She’d never been completely comfortable, not sure when to let go or what to do with her chin (she felt like she was trying to avoid a headlock every time). Only a few people could hug Emma with her stiffening: Granny (she didn’t give Emma a choice, wrapping her arms so tight around Emma’s ribs that Emma couldn’t breathe) and Killian (leaning into his embrace had felt natural, from the first time they’d crossed the line between friends and something more).

“How are you?” Ashley asked, placing the coffee pot on the counter.

“Good,” Emma answered. She hated small talk.

“Order up!” The call from the pass-through window and Ashley looked over. “Oh that’s me. But we’ll talk later, okay?”

Emma watched Ashley shuffle off. She wasn’t going to survive the weekend.

The man sitting next to Emma folded his newspaper and left it on the counter when he paid his bill. Emma pulled the abandoned paper closer. The Storybrooke Mirror wasn’t quite the Globe but it was a welcome shield between her and people who might want to talk.

She was halfway through the paper when Granny slid a plate of food across the counter. Granny retrieved the coffee pot and topped off Emma’s mug.

“Our boy still sleeping?”

Emma folded down the corner of the paper. “Yeah.”

Granny shook her head. “I’m going to send Marco up. He needs to have a look at the banister before tomorrow. Maybe that’ll rouse Sleeping Beauty.”

Emma smiled, setting aside the paper in favor of her breakfast. Granny had brought her homemade blueberry syrup to accompany the pancakes. Emma poured a generous amount over her pancakes, careful to avoid the edges of her scrambled eggs.

She was nearly done with the pancakes when Ruby slammed the door open and hurried over to Emma’s side.

“Oh good you’re awake!” Ruby flopped down onto the empty stool next to Emma, her large purse hitting the counter with a heavy thud.

Emma swirled her pancakes through the syrup. “How are the flowers?”

Ruby made a face. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Mo gave me buckets!”

“Buckets of what?” Emma took another bite. She wasn’t going to waste her breakfast while Ruby talked. Knowing Ruby she’d get to Emma’s to-do list soon enough.

“Baby’s breath!” Ruby’s dark eyes widened. “Didn’t you see the pins?”

Emma focused on her eggs. She hadn’t clicked the pinterest links Ruby had sent, unwilling to admit that she didn’t have an account and wasn’t planning to create one anytime soon. “Oh, okay,” she said, tucking in another bite.

“I’ve got everything set up on the tables out front,” Ruby said. “Is Killian up yet? He can help.”

“Killian?” This time Emma couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice.

“Yeah. He’s the best at tying knots.”

Emma chuckled, swirling her coffee around her mug. “Right. Can you fill this up? I’ll go get him.” Her lips twitched in a smile. The entire drive would be worth it to see Killian bent over flowers, creating elaborate centerpieces (even though Emma wasn’t entirely sure what Ruby had in mind).

“Of course. I’ll text you the pictures.” Ruby didn’t push, she never had. It was one of the things Emma had liked instantly about Ruby.

Carrying the refilled coffee mug, Emma made her way upstairs quickly. The bed was empty when she opened the door, but the bathroom door was shut. Emma set the coffee down on the desk. The pitcher of water was nearly full. She should have hydrated before falling asleep.

Emma ran her hand across the curved glass. It was cool to her touch. Killian must have re-filled the pitcher before getting into the shower. Rather than drink his coffee, Emma poured herself a glass. She gulped down the water in three sips.

The bathroom door swung open. He was mostly dressed (jeans and a long-sleeved shirt that was only partially buttoned) but his feet were bare. “Swan.” His voice was hoarse.

“Hey.” She tipped the glass in his direction. “I didn’t think you’d be awake yet.”

Killian moved slowly, drawn to the coffee like a moth to a lit candle.

“I came to recruit you,” Emma said. “Ruby’s downstairs.”

He swallowed the mouthful of coffee. If Killian noticed the drip marks from her earlier cups, he didn’t comment. It wasn’t the first time they’d shared mugs.

“What’s the project?”

“No idea,” Emma confessed. “Something involving buckets of flowers and rope. She’s going to send pictures.”

“Wonderful,” Killian deadpanned. “Don’t suppose you can get us out of it?”

Emma’s phone buzzed. Two new pictures from Ruby. She flipped the phone towards Killian. “Nope. See? She’s waiting for us.”

Killian grimaced. Emma tucked her phone into her pocket and shrugged on her coat.

“I need shoes,” Killian protested weakly.

Emma picked up Killian’s shoes in her left hand. “I’ve got them. You can have them back when we’re downstairs.”

She gently shoved him forward. The instant her hand touched his back, Emma realized her mistake. They were alone, no need to keep up the pretense, but he didn’t say anything.

“I’ve got rights,” Killian muttered darkly.

“Not when it comes to weddings,” Emma answered. “Especially since it’s your family.“

Their voices seemed to echo in the narrow stairway. They passed Marco on the landing; the older man was bent over the banister, his toolbox beside his feet.

“Come on,” Emma urged Killian when he lingered beside Marco’s shoulder. “You can’t keep the bride waiting.”


	9. Chapter 9

Emma lowered herself onto the porch steps, arms folded around her shins. She was exhausted. If someone had told her two days ago that she would have spent the day making ribbons from lace and burlap, Emma would have laughed hysterically. Her shoulders ached. She was never making fun of wedding planners again.

If Emma ever got married, she’d imagined it would be a simple affair at a courthouse. No fancy flowers, no expensive dress. And definitely no burlap bows. She rubbed at a sore spot on her index finger - she’d touched a bubble of glue holding the rope to the glass and burned the tip of her finger.

_Emma looked down at the pieces of ribbon and rope, turning the empty mason jar in her left hand. “It won’t work.”_

_“Course it will.” The chair scraped as Killian sat back at the table. He plugged the glue gun into the extension cord running from the building._

_“Have you done this before?” Emma couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice._

_“Not quite,” he admitted, twisting a length of rope between his hands. He glanced down at the screen of his phone. “Turn that back on, will you?”_

_Emma pressed the center button and swiped her thumb over the screen. “You need a passcode.”_

_“Had one,” he retorted, “someone complained about it.”_

_She zoomed the picture so he could see the complicated knot Ruby wanted. “One time. It’s hard to type with gloves.”_

_He didn’t answer, tucking one end of the rope into the ball and holding it up for Emma’s inspection. “How’s that?”_

_It was better than she’d imagined and actually looked close to the picture. “Not bad. Any ideas about these bows?”_

_“Oh no Swan,” Killian protested. “I draw the line there.”_

_Emma mumbled something under her breath, unwinding a large piece of lace from the cardboard spool. She wasn’t the floppy bow type. Why Ruby couldn’t have gone with something easier, Emma didn’t understand._

_Granny came out of the diner, carrying a roll of twine and scissors in her left hand. “These are for the flowers,” she told Emma. Granny touched the lopsided bow Emma had made, lips pressed together. “Maybe you should start there instead.”_

_Emma pushed the bow away with a short laugh. “Are you firing me?”_

_“I told you to hide, didn’t I?” The door slammed behind Granny when she went back into the diner._

The flowers had been the easiest part of the day, wrapping twine around the clusters of baby’s breath. Killian had wound the rope in all sorts of complicated knots, creating unique center pieces that looked better than the pictures. Even Granny had praised his work. He’d also done the bows, twisting lace and burlap together (Emma had been glad to pass that project off as well). The mason jars had taken the better part of the afternoon, securing rope around the base and setting the candles in place (they’d decided to glue the candles so nothing fell over mid-ceremony).

It was warm for October but Emma was glad she’d stolen a sweater from Killian’s old room. The front door opened but Emma didn’t turn around. “Here.” Ruby passed a beer bottle over Emma’s shoulder.

“Thanks,” Emma replied, fingers wrapped around the bottle neck. Her hands slipped against the glass. “You should be inside, enjoying your party,”

“Nah, it’s okay,” Ruby replied, settling onto the top step, “I need some air.”

Emma placed the beer on the step. Ruby’s bare feet were next to Emma’s arm.

“You guys did an amazing job on those flowers. If you want to quit your job, I think you and Killian could go into business.”

Emma sipped her beer slowly. She was slightly buzzed but not really drunk. The party was still in full swing. Emma could only imagine tomorrow’s reception.

“What’s going on with you and Killian?”

The question hovered in the air. Emma could get up but she was surprised how much she wanted to talk. “My friend…our friend, Graham, died. We didn’t really survive the grieving process.“

Ruby scooted down the steps so she was sitting next to Emma. “What happened?”

Emma swallowed hard over the mouthful of beer. "It’s complicated.”

Ruby wrapped her hands around her knees. "I was nine when Killian came here. I still thought my mom was going to come back.” She exhaled loudly. “I didn’t understand what it was like. Not until I was older.” Ruby twisted her engagement ring around her finger. “The first time I met you, I knew you were good for him.”

"Why?” Emma didn’t believe in signs or fate, especially not the way Ruby did, but she couldn’t suppress her curiosity.

“Your eyes were sad.”

Goosebumps rose along Emma’s arms, hidden beneath her sweater.

Ruby rose unsteadily to her feet. “Don’t mind me, I shouldn’t have had all that wine. It makes me mopey.”

Alone on the porch, Emma let out a sigh. She wasn’t good for anyone; she was too broken to pull anyone else from their darkness. She’d been on her own since Ingrid died, working two jobs during college and keeping her grades just high enough to maintain eligibility for her full scholarship. After graduation, she’d wanted to work somewhere exciting and New York fit the bill. Her job had punishing hours, but she earned enough to afford her share of a three bedroom apartment (split between five women). She was twenty-five when she moved to Boston, but she didn’t know how to make friends or put down roots. If she hadn’t met Graham, she probably would be getting ready to try out a new city. Emma had always wanted to live near a beach.

She sipped her beer slowly. The air smelled like bonfire smoke and wet leaves. She heard the door open, slower this time, but didn’t look over her shoulder. She felt the air shift as someone settled on the step Ruby had abandoned.

“You mind company?”

“It’s a free porch,” she replied softly, resisting the urge to lean against Killian’s shins. She felt lighter here. It was easy to blame the open porch and the cold beer. It was like nothing had changed and Emma was determined to enjoy the reprieve.

“Aye.” He plucked a long curl from her shoulder.

Emma tipped her head backwards, gazing at his upside-down features. She was riding a nice buzz (and may be closer to drunk than she wanted to admit). It was easy to relax under the familiar awning. “Are you drunk Jones?”

“Perhaps,” he replied, slipping down two steps so they were side-by-side. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, exposing his forearms.

Emma stared straight ahead, anticipating the urge to push him away and retreat to their room, but it didn’t come. His body was warm and Emma leaned sideways, her thigh pressed against his leg, hair brushing his arm.

He wrapped one arm around her shoulders, beer bottle still dangling from his fingers. She glanced over. It was a dark ale with an unfamiliar label. Curious, she plucked the bottle from his fingers, abandoning her bottle between her feet. It was better than she had expected (and colder than her own).

Killian retrieved her bottle, his arm brushing her knee, and drained it in one swallow. “How do you drink this swill?” he complained quietly.

Emma bumped her shoulder against his chest. “Shut up. The bride picked it.”

“Dirty trick that is,” Killian teased, “blaming Ruby.”

The noise of the party came through the open windows. Emma relaxed against his side, allowing the alcohol to soften her thoughts. She could tell him the truth (she’d made a mistake and she missed him) or she could let herself enjoy the moment.

Rather than shatter the quiet, Emma focused on drinking her (his) beer. He didn’t comment on the navy sweater stretched across her shoulders.

The view from Granny’s porch was magical, the lights scattered through the trees taking on a surreal glow. Emma used to call them Christmas lights, before Ruby told her the preferred Storybrooke term was twinkle lights. It made the town look like something out of another time.

* * *

When they finally abandoned any idea of returning to the party, she was more than a bit drunk and a small collection of empty bottles were lined up against the porch railing.

Emma stumbled up the front staircase, gripping Killian’s ribs tightly through his shirt. They were only on the third step but the staircase looked insurmountable.

She pitched left and he gripped the banister tightly, his other hand wrapped around her waist. “Steady love.”

She giggled (yes, she was more drunk than she thought) and tucked her head against his chest. “You’ve got me.”

Emma didn’t notice how Killian stiffened against her, his buzz disappearing at her words. “Aye,” he replied softly into the crown of her head, “I do. Now come along Swan.”

Somehow they made their way upstairs, climbing heavily over each step. She wanted to rest on the landing but Killian urged her forward.

In front of their door, Emma leaned heavily against the doorframe. She was floating, the alcohol making her weightless. Killian twisted the key and the door swung open.

Emma nearly flung herself through the open door. The same room that had seemed claustrophobic a few hours earlier seemed to welcome them inside.

She leaned against the dresser, not trusting the wicker chair to hold her weight. Emma made her way unsteadily over to the bed. She stepped out of her shoes and flopped backwards onto the bed.

The room was dark but she stared up at the ceiling. This far away, the noises of the party were completely muffled.

Her head was so heavy. She didn’t want to fall asleep but she felt so relaxed. “Come sit,” she urged Killian, not sure where he was in the room.

“Move over,” he urged quietly, his voice coming from her right side. Emma glanced left. She was near the foot of the bed and the pillows were too far away.

Emma lifted her arms for him to grasp. With a chuckle, he pulled her into a sitting position. She flopped to her side, pulling her feet onto the comforter. She wanted to tell him she loved him, that she wanted to talk about them and everything that had gone wrong, but the bed was too comfortable. Instead Emma turned onto her side, jean-clad legs spread across the bed, cheek pressed against the pillows. She tugged the sweater sleeves over her wrists, nearly covering her hands.

She was so tired. “I’m glad I’m here,” Emma confessed quietly. The words didn’t feel as heavy here.

“Me too,” he answered, draping a quilt from the foot over the bed over her body.

Emma pulled a corner over her shoulder. It smelled like lavender.

“Why did you call me?” The question had been burning in her mind for nearly a week. Tomorrow she could blame the beer. Tonight she felt bold.


	10. Chapter 10

“Why did you call me?” ****

Killian nearly stumbled against the bedside table when Emma asked the question he’d been dreading.

He hesitated, brushing one hand over her shoulder. She was drunk, he knew that much, but how drunk was the question.

He stepped backwards, retreating to the safety of the painted wicker chair. “I don’t know,” he admitted.

He exhaled loudly. Leaving had been the coward’s way. He’d rationalized that it was better to heed Emma’s wishes, to give her the space she claimed to need, but it was bullshit.

“I thought you hated me.” Her voice was barely louder than a whisper but Killian nearly fell off his chair. He thought she’d fallen asleep.

His head buzzed from too much alcohol but he could hear the pain in her voice. “No love. Never.” His voice was rough.

“I wouldn’t blame you,” she slurred, already closer to sleep than awake. “It’s what people do.”

“Not everyone,” he replied roughly.

Killian clenched his hands into tight fists. He missed his brother. Liam would have known what to say, always finding the perfect words to fill the silence.

After their mother’s death, Liam had been the one to look after Killian, keeping up the appearance that their father was overseas for work but still involved. In truth, their father had left home four years prior.

Liam had promised they would come to America after Killian graduated College. They’d had a list of places to see and foods to try. Liam wanted to see the bridges; he’d always made Killian detour on holiday to see a suspension bridge or an arch bridge.

Killian was fifteen when his brother died. Liam had been struck down by a drunk driver while crossing the street three weeks before he graduated from University. When Liam died, their grandfather (pushing ninety and in poor health) decided that Killian would be sent to America (and to Granny). Killian had raged against the decision, but eventually had packed a backpack and a duffel bag with his meager belongings. Granny was his mother’s cousin and the only family Killian had left.

* * *

_He hadn’t slept on the flight to Portland. His eyes were gritty and Killian was hungry. The enormous blue car swung wide around the corner, nearly crossing into the other lane of traffic. Granny chuckled as a man wearing spectacles jumped back onto the sidewalk. “That’s Archie,” she told Killian, keeping up the steady stream of one-sided conversation. If she noticed that he wasn’t paying attention, Granny didn’t comment. “And there’s the library.” She pointed through the windshield at the clock tower. They pulled up to a white fence and shifted the car into Park. “And here’s my place. This is the diner side. You can go around here,” she pointed at an alleyway, “to get to the front door.”_

_Killian shrugged, seatbelt digging into his shoulder. Everything was backwards here: they drove on the wrong side of the road, spoke too quickly and smiled too much. He was in hell. Storybrooke was nothing like the small village he’d left behind. The entire drive from the airport he’d been looking for farmland but had seen only trees._

_“You hungry?” Granny asked, releasing her own seatbelt. He shrugged again._

_She gripped his shoulder gently and he turned reluctantly. “It’ll be alright,” she said, blue eyes staring intently, “not right away. But one day. It won’t hurt as much.”_

_Tears filled Killian’s eyes. He was too old to cry, but too young to be alone in a strange world. He was tired. “Promise?”_

_Granny swallowed hard. “I promise.”_

* * *

Killian had lived in America longer than he’d been anywhere else and he’d grown used to thinking of Storybrooke as home. He’d been desperate to leave town, counting the dates until he graduated high school and could go away to school. But he hadn’t counted on the rush of loneliness that crept up during his first semester of college, alone in the middle of a Pennsylvania corn field, staring out his dorm winter at the empty campus. He’d transferred to a school in Boston for his second year. It was closer to Maine and felt more like home. He’d only applied to graduate schools in the Boston area, preferring to change neighborhoods but not cities. Graham had been his best friend for close to ten years. Eventually the pain would turn into a manageable scar. Tonight it burned.

Emma’s steady breathing filled the room; it was too small for both of them. Last night he hadn’t thought about slipping beneath the comforter and sliding into bed. But it was different now. Memories wove through the air, twisting around the furniture.

This room was where Granny had installed them, after he brought Emma to Storybrooke for the first time. It was Christmas, too early in their relationship to spend a holiday together (especially with his family), but timing had never been their strong suit. They hadn’t put a label on whatever they were doing yet, only telling Graham (he’d rolled his eyes but kept the teasing to a minimum) but none of their other friends. Fortunately there were enough committments during the weeks between Christmas and Thanksgiving to make getting together difficult. Killian and Emma were in their own world, and he was determined to make the most out of it.

* * *

_They’d been sitting at a back table when she’d leaned over and kissed him. It wasn’t the first time but it still felt new. Killian had kissed her back furiously. It wasn’t a date, just drinks after work at a bar close to her place, but as the hours wore on, it felt more like a date. Christmas was the following week and they hadn’t discussed what she was doing for the holiday. He was leaving for Storybrooke on Christmas Eve, having volunteered to cover the hours no one else wanted. Granny was annoyed, according to Ruby, but she hadn’t said anything directly._

_“You should come with me,” he said, beer sloshing against the sides of his glass when he set it down. Emma raised an eyebrow, shifting her body closer as she crossed one leg under the other. Sitting on the same side of a booth had its advantages._

_“Where? Storybrooke?” Her lipstick had long ago worn away, but her lips were still a light pink._

_Killian wondered if she’d managed to wipe the tell-tale smears from his own mouth._

_“Sure. Granny won’t mind.”_

_The library closed at noon; he had plenty of time to make it back before Granny’s famous dinner. This year she claimed it was small, only twenty-four of their closest friends (and people with nowhere else to go). Granny didn’t care if her guests observed Christmas or not: she served enough food for fifty._

_“It’s okay,” Emma protested weakly. She took a sip of her beer._

_Killian wrapped one arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to his chest. “Come on Swan. Graham’s not coming back until after the first. You can’t hide in that apartment forever.”_

_Graham had saved his vacation time for almost two years; he’d left to see his sister three days earlier._

_“Who says I’m hiding? I’ve got big plans,” she retorted._

_“What? Curry chicken take away and Love Actually?”_

_“Muppet’s Christmas Carol, smartass.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder._

_Later, when they’d finished their drinks but not the conversation, Killian’s invitation still hung in the air between them. When they finally left the bar, close to midnight, Emma’s face hidden under a knit scarf and matching hat, she retrieved the thread._

_“I don’t do Christmas,” she admitted quietly._

_Killian jammed his hands into his pockets. “So don’t. Get out of the city. Avoid the tourists and the crowds.”_

_The light changed and they hurried across the intersection. Killian glanced at Emma. This was their stop: to get home he needed to go left, she needed to go right._

_Emma grabbed his hand, pulling him along with her. “Come on.”_

_Killian didn’t argue; his feet were cold and his apartment too far away. They walked quickly, their breath making small clouds of warm air in front of their lips._

_He’d nearly broken his arm on the icy steps but Emma hadn’t let go of his hand. She hadn’t released it until he was beside her on the landing, fumbling her gloved fingers into her purse in search of her keys._

_Killian followed her up another flight of stairs, waiting as she unlocked the apartment door. The flat itself was nothing special – mismatched wooden furniture, an overly large sofa facing an enormous television – but messier than he remembered. By the time Graham returned, he would need a crane to find the sofa._

_He followed her into the living room. Emma toed off her boots, hanging her heavy coat in the entryway closet. She took Killian’s coat without comment. She turned back, arms crossed over her chest. “I’ll go. But no mistletoe and no caroling. Got it?“_

_He scoffed. “You really are unromantic, aren’t you Swan?”_

_She pressed her hands against his chest, closing the distance between their bodies. “I don’t know,” she whispered against his ear. “I can be pretty romantic if the moment calls for it.”_

_Killian wrapped his arms around his lower back. “Trust me darling, it calls for it.”_

_She brushed her lips over his cheek. “Is that a challenge?”_

_He kissed her before she could say more._


	11. Chapter 11

“Morning sunshine,” Ruby chirped at Killian when he entered the diner. ****

He stared bleary-eyed at the sight of her behind the counter, sinking onto the nearest stool. His head was pounding. “What are you doing here?”

She poured him a cup of coffee. “I’ve been here since five.”

He could only imagine how much caffeine was coursing through her veins. “Couldn’t sleep?” He clutched the coffee like a lifeline.

“Granny forgot to turn off her alarm.” Ruby sipped from her own travel mug. Despite years of getting up early, Granny wasn’t a morning person and always set two alarms on opposite sides of the apartment (spaced five minutes apart).

Killian swallowed the coffee down quickly. “Hit me again.”

“Emma up yet?” Killian shook his head and Ruby poured the last of the pot into his mug. “She looked pretty wasted last night.”

“She’s just tired,” he lied.

Ruby pressed her lips together, letting the lie brush past. She reached for his wrist, squeezing it gently.

Killian looked up, squinting against the bright overhead lights.

“You two okay?”

Killian took a sip from his coffee. “Not really.”

Ruby waited but Killian didn’t say more. He couldn’t find the right words. It was too early to think straight, much less talk about Emma (or Graham) (or anything more serious than the weather).

Ruby traced her finger over the countertop. “You didn’t have to come.”

He frowned. “Yeah I did, Red.”

She flushed in response. Killian cleared his throat before he said more. It must be the hangover making him emotional. The conversation wasn’t finished. Not by a long-shot. But today was about Ruby, not his own miserable problems.

“Shut up,” Ruby replied, cheeks coloring further. She turned back to the espresso machine and retrieved the small cup. “Here,” Ruby said, dumping the shots into a mug and adding a generous swirl of whipped cream. She dusted the top with cinnamon before handing it to Killian. “It’s for Emma. Hot chocolate. With espresso.”

Killian wrapped one hand around the mug. Hot chocolate was Emma’s drink of choice, doctored according to her mood.

“Thanks.” He knew better than to argue with Ruby.

“And take some aspirin too. You look like hell.” Ruby wiped her hands on a striped towel.

If Killian had a free hand, he would have saluted. Instead he nodded (slowly to keep the pounding in his head at a manageable pain level). “See you in a bit.” He balanced one cup in each hand, careful to climb the stairs slowly. Granny would have his head if he spilled on the rug.

The bathroom door was closed when Killian entered their room. He set Emma’s mug on the nightstand. He wondered about the extent of her hangover; they’d put away a fair amount of beer last night.

He sank onto the wicker chair, his head protesting the movement. The coffee was heavy in his stomach.

Killian sipped slowly from his mug, listening as the shower shut off. The door slammed against the wall and Killian looked over his shoulder. Emma stood in the small doorway, wearing an oversized t-shirt and shorts, holding a towel against her wet hair.

“Hey,” she said, her voice rough. She reached back into the bathroom and brought out a half-filled water glass. “You’re up early.”

He gestured at the mug on the coffee table. “Ruby sent you this one.”

Emma stepped closer, her face breaking into a smile. “Trust her to use hot chocolate as a hangover cure.” She picked up the mug and took an appreciative sip. She settled onto the window seat, her back to the closed curtains. “How’s your head?”

Killian shrugged, “been better. You?”

“I’d say I’m never drinking again, but that would be a lie.” Emma tucked her legs beneath her body. “Did you eat?”

Killian swallowed the last of his coffee before answering. “No. The diner’s officially closed for the day but I’m sure Granny won’t mind if we borrow the stove.”

Emma shook her head. “I don’t want to bother her. Can we get doughnuts?” Pastries were the only thing Granny didn’t make herself – she always got them delivered from the bakery two doors down.

“Yeah,” Killian replied. “What time does your primping start?”

Emma swallowed a mouthful of hot chocolate, wiping her index finger over her lips. “Ten.”

Killian glanced at his phone. “We’ve got time then.”  
  
“Good.” She replaced the empty cup. “Give me two minutes.”

He used the time to change out of his sweatpants and into yesterday’s jeans. Killian had pulled off his t-shirt and had slipped his arms into a button-down when Emma opened the bathroom door. “Sorry,” she replied, averting her eyes.

“You’ve seen me more naked,” Killian replied without thinking.

She pulled her sweater over her head, covering the thin tank. “Yeah,” she replied, kneeling beside her bag. Emma frowned, digging through the small case.

“You lose something?”

“Socks,” she replied, holding up a single green sock in her left hand.

“Take one of mine,” Killian said, reaching into his bag to retrieve a pair. “They’ll be too big but if you want…”

“Thanks.” Emma’s fingers brushed his knuckles. “They’ll work.” She sat down on the unmade bed and tugged his socks over her bare toes.

He hadn’t noticed last night but her toenails were painted a shocking shade of pink. “That’s quite a color,” he observed, gesturing his mug at her feet.

Emma grimaced. “Yeah. It looked darker in the bottle.”

He finished his coffee while she laced up her boots.  They pulled on their coats.

They made their way down the narrow stairwell in silence. Killian kept to his side of the stairs, careful not to bump his hip against her leg. It was torture to be in such a close space with Emma. But he was the fool who had set them on this ridiculous path, so he owed it to both of them to stay the course.

Killian told himself that she’d been drunk last night. Most likely she didn’t know what she had said, and even if she remembered, she wouldn’t want to talk about it.

They stepped outside, Killian holding the door for Emma. She ducked her head with a smile. “Such a gentleman,” she teased softly.

“I’m always a gentleman,” he replied, coming up behind her and murmuring the words into her ear.

It was a mistake; he’d done the same thing dozens of times before, murmuring a dirty suggestion or soft words into her ear, and he stiffened. He didn’t want to push (he knew how quickly Emma could startle), especially not here, not with Archie walking his dog on the opposite sidewalk and Marco sweeping the space in front of his workshop, Killian’s hangover pounding behind his eyes.

Emma laughed quietly. The sidewalk was wide enough for them to walk side-by-side. They stopped in front of The Golden Goose and Emma stared at the window.

“Do you smell that?” she asked, turning to look at him with wide eyes, not waiting for an answer. “I don’t think there’s a better smell in the world.”

“I know Swan. The way to your heart is paved with sugar,” Killian replied, giving her a gentle shove between her shoulders. His words felt hollow.

He should walk away, turn around and barricade himself in the attic until the wedding. After the ceremony, they would go back to Boston and maybe one day manage to revive their friendship. Until then, Killian was standing on quick sand.

The bell jangled as they entered the bakery.

“Killian!” Doc appeared behind the counter, his forehead and glasses smudged with flour.

“Morning Doc,” Killian replied. He stepped away from Emma to shake hands with the older man. “How are you?”

“Doing well my boy. Remind me of your lovely friend’s name?”

“Emma,” Killian supplied.

“That’s right,” Doc replied. “Raspberry jelly, am I right?”

Emma nodded, “best one I’ve ever eaten.”

“I’ve got a new one you might like,” Doc told Emma, moving behind the glass cases, “blackberry and mint.” He placed both pastries in a cream-colored box. “Killian can I convince you to try something new?”

“Not a chance,” he replied. Chocolate glazed had been his favorite since he was fifteen. No reason to change now.

Emma’s fingers went around Killian’s wrist when he reached for his wallet. “My treat,” she said. “You carry the coffee.”

Doc passed the box of doughnuts over the counter. “One or two?” he asked Emma.

Without hesitation, she replied “one.”

Killian didn’t say anything. Usually Emma hated to share coffee. He accepted the box, napkins and takeaway cup of coffee without a comment.

“See you later?” he asked Doc before they left.

“Of course. Tell Granny I’ll bring the cake around noon.”

“Will do,” Killian replied, waiting for Emma to open the door before stepping onto the sidewalk.

Without a word they headed in the direction of the docks. It was Killian’s favorite spot growing up and he had talked so much about it that Emma hadn’t needed to ask for directions the first time they came to town.

The sight of the masts against the blue-gray sky usually brought him comfort but Killian was exhausted. He’d spent too much time lately thinking about his brother. If Liam had lived, Killian’s life would be unrecognizable. Instead he was surrounded by ghosts.

“Hey, are you okay?” Emma was already sitting on a bench and Kilian realized he was still standing.

He sat down beside her, their purchases balanced on his lap. “I suppose.”

She took the coffee from him, sipping slowly while he opened the doughnuts. “How old would he be?”

Killian looked sideways at Emma. He hadn’t spoken aloud but she could still read him like an open book. “Thirty-six.”

She passed him the coffee without turning her head. He took a sip, the cup balanced on the bench slat between them, turning his attention back to the ocean.

The breeze coming off the ocean was warm. If the weather reports were to be believed, it would be a perfect day for Ruby’s wedding.

“Do you remember the first time we met, at that awful bar?”

He chuckled. The bar in question had been their preferred place to watch rugby matches until Will found his current apartment (and roommate who subscribed to all the premium sports channels).  “Aye.”

“And Graham started introducing me to everyone…”

“And Will asked if you were sleeping with him,” Killian finished with a chuckle.

She plucked her raspberry doughnut from the box with a nod. Emma bit into the pastry, powdered sugar flying all over her chest and lap.

“I was so pissed,” she admitted, “I didn’t want to go and then it was like a freaking Noah’s Ark with accents.”

Killian chuckled loudly. It was true. They were a mismatched groups of expats. “But you dug in.”

Emma tucked her feet beneath her thighs, taking up nearly half the bench, her doughnut balanced on her bent knee. “Kicking and screaming,” she admitted. “Graham kept telling me I needed people.” She licked powdered sugar from her index finger. “He was right.”

Killian stared out at the water. “First time for everything,” he replied lightly.

Emma bumped her shoulder against Killian’s side. “Want to share that coffee?“

He glanced over. Her doughnut was nearly gone, one large piece left in her hand. He’d forgotten how much food she could tuck in quickly. He passed the paper cup to Emma. “You could have gotten your own,” he teased gently.

“No way,” she replied, lips curling around the lid. “I’ll be bouncing off the ceiling.”

“Ah, so it’s self-preservation.”

Her expression changed. He couldn’t untangle it before Emma rolled her eyes.

She passed over the coffee. “I’ll trade you. I want to try the other one.”

Killian passed her the box of doughnuts. She lifted the lid. The chocolate glaze was untouched. “Don’t think I won’t eat yours too,” she warned.

He chuckled, reaching in for his doughnut. He’d seen her eat an entire serving bowl of cereal and polish off an entire bag of marshmallows in the same sitting. She was a bottomless pit of junk food.

She turned the box and studied her enormous pastry. It was larger than a bear claw (her usual go-to) and was covered in a thick layer of powdered sugar. Emma took a bite from the center.

He watched her swallow it with a grin. “Good?”

“You have to try this,” she urged.

Killian leaned forward and took a large bite. It was good. Not quite as good as the chocolate but worth the smile on Emma’s face.

She laughed at the powdered sugar covering his chin, passing him the crumpled napkin with her free hand. Killian felt a genuine smile stretch across his face. 


	12. Chapter 12

Emma sat on the edge of the bed, watching the flurry of activity. Ruby’s hair had been twisted into a complicated series of rollers and was now being released, loose curls falling over her shoulders. Ashley was leaning over a small mirror, carefully lining her eyes while Mary Margaret fussed with the small bouquets of flowers. ****

Emma had never imagined being in someone’s wedding. She wasn’t the sort of person who carried a group of girlfriends from childhood to adulthood; she’d had high school friends who she didn’t try to keep in touch with and college friends she’d mostly forgotten after graduation. She’d moved through life without strong connections until Boston.

“What do you think?” Ruby turned in the chair so the girls could assess her hair.

Mary Margaret gasped. “You look amazing!”

“Just like a princess,” Ashley added.

Emma bit down on the corners of her mouth to suppress a snort. Ruby did look a bit like she should be singing about a prince, but it was pretty. “Looks great,” she replied and was rewarded with a wide smile from Ashley and Mary Margaret.

Later, after she had slipped on her dress (Ashley called the color blush not pink) and followed the other women across town, Emma felt like a marionette. The photographer moved them around, calling out suggestions and encouragement, pausing to make sure the pregnant bridesmaids were still doing okay. Emma hadn’t realized five people could be moved in so many different poses.

She leaned against the low fence, watching Granny and the photographer argue about additional shots. Emma’s head still ached slightly, her hangover not completely gone. She wrapped the edges of her shawl around her body.

Emma couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that she’d said something strange to Killian last night, but couldn’t remember what. Their earlier conversation was on a loop in her mind; she’d been thinking too much about the past, about Graham and things she couldn’t change. She’d lost her nerve earlier, coming close to the conversation only to back away at the last minute. Admitting she was wrong had never been one of Emma’s strong suits; admitting it to Killian felt impossible.

She missed him but she didn’t need him. She was perfectly capable of moving through life without him. But she did miss the way he smiled and the way they always seemed to walk at the same pace. She missed the slight height difference between them and how his hand felt against her lower back. And she missed waking up next to him (they both usually wound up on their stomachs, pillows abandoned and feet touching).

“Hey Emma!”

Ashley’s voice pulled Emma from her thoughts. “Yeah?” She shaded her eyes against the sun, hoping she didn’t look as out-of-place as she felt.   
  
“Come on, we’re going to get some pictures in front of the diner,” Ashley called.

Emma reluctantly joined the processional, wondering why they couldn’t have started with those photos in the first place. Her strappy sandals were already pinching her toes and the ceremony hadn’t even begun. Ruby had told her to wear flats or sandals but Emma didn’t own gold flats. She felt silly wearing sandals in October but so far the sun was warm.

As they walked, she wondered how Killian had gotten out of being included in the photo madness. When she turned the corner towards the diner and saw him standing against the painted archway, she had her answer.

He raised one hand in greeting and Emma waved back. For the briefest moment, she forgot her hangover and the tension between them, and let Ruby’s happiness carry her forward.  The celebratory mood was infectious and Emma found herself feeling lighter than she had in weeks.

* * *

Less than an hour later, Emma stared at the aisle, nerves twisting her stomach into knots. Her palms were sweaty and she couldn’t breathe through the tight bodice of the dress. She was going to throw up or pass out.

“Ready?” David appeared at Emma’s elbow. He’d been directing guests to their seats. Even though there wasn’t a bride’s side or groom’s side for the ceremony, Ruby still wanted an equal split across the white folding chairs.

“Yeah.” Her smile felt plastic, stretched too thin beneath the heavy layers of makeup.

David chuckled. “If you want my advice, find a fixed point at the end of the aisle and look there,” he offered, “that’s what Mary Margaret said she did at our wedding.”

“Did it work?”

He shrugged. “I think so. No one fell.”

Emma flushed. Falling wasn’t her concern. Before she could tell David that she was more worried about throwing up, Killian’s hand closed around her elbow. He steered her away from the ceremony space, moving them just out of earshot (she didn’t pay attention to what he told David).

Emma couldn’t do it. Something was going to happen and ruin Ruby’s wedding and forever brand Emma as the girl who stole the spotlight from Ruby.

“You look stunning,” Killian said, one hand still on her elbow.

She didn’t answer. Sweat was beginning to bead at her hairline. Emma was certain she looked a fright but if she focused on Killian maybe the ground would stop spinning.

Her mouth was dry. “Shouldn’t you be sitting down?”

He rocked back and forth, finally releasing her arm. “Turns out all Red’s panicking was for nothing.” He gestured at Mary Margaret and Ashley who were already standing next to Peter’s brothers.  “Now if you want to walk down the aisle alone, I’ll find a seat.” He chuckled when Emma’s eyes widened. “But Granny thought you might want some company.”

“And you volunteered?” Emma raised an eyebrow, the teasing restoring some of her equilibrium.

“Was coerced,” he grumbled in reply. “Bloody trickery is what it is.”

“Oh.” Emma inhaled sharply, goosebumps rising along her bare arms as the music changed. It was their cue to line up. The next song was the processional.

She took Killian’s hand with a smile, hoping she looked more confident than she felt. “Lead the way,“ she said as they made their way through the grass. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.


	13. Chapter 13

After the ceremony, the toasts and the dinner, and after shaking hands with practically half the town, Killian was exhausted. He leaned against the back of the bench. Tables dotted the square, each one bearing one of his rope creations and a flickering candle. Ashley’s boyfriend Sean and David had helped Peter’s brothers transform the aisle decoration into centerpieces. ****

The dancing was still going strong but the crowd was slowly thinning. Killian was glad that Leroy was in charge of overseeing the breakdown. He wanted to take off his suit.

Emma sank onto the bench beside him. Her pale pink dress flared beneath her legs. She’d pulled her hair into a ponytail but he could feel the heat radiating from her body.

“Can we get out of here?” She stretched her legs in front of her body. Her gold shoes caught the light from the rows of bulbs hanging between each tree and light post.

Killian was certain Ruby had borrowed almost all the Founder’s Day and Christmas decorations from the Mayor’s office. The entire town looked like something from a movie set, complete with the strategically placed space heaters Granny had borrowed from the hardware store.

“Course.” He offered her his arm. “Where to? A walk in the forest perhaps?” He deliberately exaggerated his accent, like something out a sweeping historical drama.

Emma stood up with a groan. She ducked her head against his shoulder, wrapping herself around his arm. “You lead.”

“Now that’s a change.”

She laughed as they began to walk. “Shut up.”

The street lights cast puddles of light onto the empty sidewalk. Even though it was a bit past eight, most of the storefronts were dark.

“It was a beautiful wedding,” she said softly.

Killian touched her bare arm. “You made it better.” The words slipped out. He’d been thinking the same words all afternoon.

“I missed this,” she confessed as they walked, her thumb tracing nonsense patterns against his bicep. “Missed you.”

He stiffened. She didn’t seem drunk, not even the slightest bit buzzed. He’d avoided the wine, nursing two beers for the duration of the reception.

If he was going to lose her, it might as well be tonight. She could drive back to Boston. He’d make her excuses and find his own way back. “Then why push me away?”

“Because I didn’t know what else to do.”

Her words lodged in his chest, pressing painfully against his lungs. He grasped Emma’s hands, turning so they were face-to-face, studying her drawn expression.

“I’m not good at this,” she admitted, tears glittering in her eyes.

He traced his thumb across her cheek. “Neither am I. But at some point, you’re going to have to let me in.”

Emma stiffened. “I want to,” she admitted, “but what’s the point? Everyone leaves.”

The sense of déjà vu was overwhelming. Last night he hadn’t known what to say. Tonight he had nothing to lose.

“I won’t,” he replied, his voice rough.

She shook her head. “You can’t promise that. This isn’t some stupid movie Killian, this is real life. And in real life shitty things happen. All the time. And you can’t just gloss over them.”

“I know.” He stepped closer, one hand on her shoulder. “But I’m not going to walk away because you’re scared.”

She shook her head, chin quivering. “Don’t you get it?” Her shoulders jerked up towards her ears. “I can’t lose you too.”

Killian felt the rush of blood between his ears. He might not believe in fairytales and he didn’t have the faintest clue about happy endings, but he wanted to build something with Emma, the kind of life they hadn’t had growing up.

“Then you’ll just have to trust me,” he said, leaned closer. “Alright?”

Emma kissed him gently, her lips brushed over his, and Killian felt like he was finally back on solid ground.

* * *

Emma grabbed Killian’s hand, leading him through the row of hedges lining Granny’s sidewalk. Her fingers curled against his knuckles. If he could freeze a moment, it would be right now. He felt like he could fly across town.

She started up the stairs, her hips twitching deliberately beneath her dress. Emma glanced over her shoulder, a mischievous glimmer in her eyes. “Are you coming?”

Killian flashed her a feral smile. She pressed her body against his side, wiggling beneath his arm and curling herself around his ribs. He could feel her heartbeat through the thin layers of fabric separating their bodies.

The front door to Granny’s was locked, but he’d had carried a spare key for years. He fitted the key into the lock, grateful that Granny hadn’t ever taken his advice to change the locks. The foyer was warm but quiet.

The wedding reception must still be in full swing. Killian locked the door behind them. Emma raised herself onto her toes, bracing her arms on his shoulders. He’d missed her and Killian lifted her into his arms before she realized what he was doing.

She slapped at his chest with her right hand. “Put me down,” she urged, lips curling around his earlobe.

Killian staggered sideways but recovered, making his way to the staircase. “Don’t distract me love.”

Her head connected with his shoulder, her breath warm against his neck. “Just don’t make a habit of this,” she murmured, nuzzling her cheek against his shoulder.

Killian made his way to their room in record time, grateful neither of them had locked the door. He kicked the door closed, not caring if anyone heard it slam, crossing the room in three strides to deposit Emma gently on the bed.

The curtains were still open and there was still a crowd in the square. Killian yanked the curtains closed.

He turned to face Emma. She was sitting in the center of the bed, one hand behind her body and one leg stretched towards Killian, shoes abandoned on the floor. He made quick work of his tie, dropping it on the floor and toeing off his shoes.

Killian came around the bed and knelt behind her on the mattress, sliding down the zipper of her dress.

The fabric fell to her waist and he kissed her bare shoulder. Her skin smelled faintly like the lavender bath soap.

Emma turned on the bed, her knees pressed against the mattress. She gripped Killian’s shoulder, steadying herself as he lifted the dress over her head, leaving her in only her lace thong. Emma kissed Killian fiercely, her hands tangling in his hair. 

* * *

They missed breakfast the following morning, stumbling blearily through the diner’s back entrance close to noon. Killian’s hair was sticking up in the back. She was pretty sure her haphazard braid did nothing to hide the obvious fact that they’d just woken up (and had barely slept). They slid onto the same side of the first available booth, Killian’s left arm around Emma’s waist.

Granny made her way through the crowded tables. She slid two coffee mugs across the counter and settled herself on the opposite side of the booth. Granny’s gaze went from Emma to Killian. “Did you two have fun?”

Emma felt herself blush. They’d ducked out of the reception without a word to anyone. She reached for her coffee, ducking her head slightly. “Yeah,” she replied, certain that Granny could read her innermost thoughts.

Killian lifted his mug with his right hand. “It was a lovely wedding,” he told Granny.

She raised an eyebrow in response. “Don’t look at me like that Killian Jones. I know all your tricks. And they won’t work on me.”

Emma squeezed his leg under the table. He’d told her last night (or early this morning, she’d lost track) that Granny had called before Ruby (but he still swore that he hadn’t said anything to Granny about their fight).

Emma wanted to ask Granny about the whole thing, but didn’t know how to start the conversation. Emma didn’t believe in magic and there wasn’t any explanation beyond coincidence. Granny couldn’t have called because she’d had a feeling about Emma and Killian; she was just a regular person with eerily good timing.

Granny reached across the table and squeezed Emma’s hand tightly. She looked over at Killian. “Now are you eating here or do you want me to wrap something up for the road?“

Killian shook his head, "actually, if it’s alright with you, we’re going to stay for a few more days.”

“Is that so?” Granny fixed her blue eyes on Emma.

Emma nodded and was rewarded with a smile from Granny.

“Well as long as you don’t try to change anything, I suppose you can stay.”

Killian gestured out the window. “Not even the sign over the front porch?”

Granny wagged her finger at Killian. “If you touch it, I’ll never make cherry pie again.”

He clutched one hand to his chest, “you drive a hard bargain.”

“I know,” she replied with a wolfish grin. “Now do you want grilled cheese, Emma, or a burger?”

“Grilled cheese,” Emma said, her fingers loose around the handle of her coffee cup. “With…”

“Onion rings,” Granny finished, rolling her eyes, “I know. Killian?”

“Whatever’s easiest.”

Granny huffed but she was smiling, “one meatloaf sandwich coming up.”

Emma laughed at the outraged expression on his face. She felt like her vision had cleared and she could take a deep breath again.

Killian cursed under his breath. “Whose side are you on?”

“Mine.” Emma caught Granny’s eye across the diner and she swore the older woman winked in response.

It wasn’t a fairytale ending; it was a beginning. 


	14. Epilogue

“I can’t believe you didn’t get the air conditioning fixed.” The July heat was oppressive and Emma’s shirt was already plastered to her back.

“It’ll be better once we get this connected.” Killian was bent over the box, separating the tiny screws from the other small metal pieces.

Killian had bribed their friends with promises of pizza and beer. It had taken the better part of a weekend, but their furniture and boxes were finally in the right place. But everyone had returned to work, leaving Emma and Killian on their own to install the ceiling fan.

“And how are we going to do that again?” Emma’s hands went to her hips. She was irritable. Taking a vacation day to sweat in their not-currently air conditioned apartment wasn’t her idea of a day well spent, even if the repairman was due to arrive that afternoon.

Friday night, she hadn’t been prepared for the gust of hot air that hit her the instant she opened the door. To be fair, the apartment looked better than it had when she last saw it. The fluorescent lime green accent wall had been painted a light gray and the oven door was closed (rather than hanging open on broken hinges). Three days later, she was impressed at the unpacking progress but still hated the temperature.

Killian gestured at the hole in the ceiling. “I’ll stand on the chair, you get on the ladder and balance it.”

Emma glanced up. “And who’s going to call 911 when I fall off the ladder and take you down with me?”

He chuckled. “Don’t you trust me?”

Emma climbed up the ladder. Killian handed her the screwdriver. “We’ll need this later,” he said, passing her a plastic bag of metal bits.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” She balanced her right hand against the ceiling.

Killian stepped onto the chair. “Of course. You think Granny was going to pay for a handyman?”

Emma mumbled something under her breath. It wasn’t difficult, balancing on the ladder, but she’d never liked heights (not that she would admit it out loud). She hadn’t grown up around tools or home improvement projects, but she had mastered the art of putting together cheap furniture.

She was dripping with sweat by the time Killian finished installing the fan. Emma stepped off the lowest rung of the ladder. It screeched when Killian folded it back up. He carried the ladder back to the closet, one arm wrapped around its legs.

There were boxes scattered across the apartment: some open, others empty, far too many still taped closed. Emma was tired of moving and packing and unpacking. She leaned over the closest one, pulling out a crushed pillow (she’d started stuffing towels and pillows into any available box to cushion the breakables) and tossing it toward the sofa. It missed, landing on the floor, but Emma didn’t care. She could pick it up later.

Emma pulled out a large bubble-wrapped picture frame. She ripped through the packing tape. It was from Ruby’s wedding, taken in front of Granny’s diner, but it wasn’t one of the posed shots. In the picture, Emma was standing next to Killian, laughing at something, while Granny adjusted Ruby’s veil. Emma traced her finger over the glass. She’d never had family photos to hang on her walls or display on her mantel.

Emma sneezed loudly, the dust making her nose itch and eyes water. She padded over to the fireplace (it was closed and was purely decorative), resting the frame against the wall. Emma stepped back, arms over her chest.

Killian returned with two beers, the bottles clanging against each other. “Break?” He passed her one of the beers. Emma pressed her forehead against the cold glass and flopped onto the sofa.

Emma tilted her head back, staring at the revolving fan blades, her knee against Killian’s leg. He was right, it was more comfortable with the fan circulating the hot air, but his books could stay packed indefinitely. Or at least until the air conditioning was fixed.


End file.
